La Ra Everlasting Frost
by Sakura Shinguji-Albatou
Summary: Faced with a visit from the Sorcerers, Dilandau flees the Vione and is up sold as a slave in the Mystic Valley. As Folken and the Dragon Slayers search for him, they find themselves fated to a conflict much more complex than Emperor Dornkirk had planned.
1. Chapter 1: The Lion, the Magician

A/N: Merry Christmas, min'na-san! I meant to put this up a little closer to Christmas, but I can't wait any longer. I'm impatient. I know it starts off slow, but please give me a nice Christmas present by reading and reviewing!

  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 1- The Lion, the Magician, and the Cage**

  
Black leather creaking, he leaned against the cold, metal railing and gazed down in satisfaction at the smoldering ruin below him. Smoke still drifted up from the glowing embers of the city- of the entire country -stinging his nostrils. He breathed it in deeply. The fires had burned hot, for the smoke to come this high. Another would have coughed and turned away from the heat of the fires when they had raged in their full force. But he, he had walked among them like the god of death himself. The fire was the lifeblood that ran through his veins. As a rose reached to the sun for its life, he, the poison flower, drew upon the fire for his strength. 

Thin, wiry hands tightened around the railing. Large eyes of a frightening crimson narrowed in anger. Those fires down there also marked a failure. The Emperor had finally given the command to begin this war. The Dragon Slayers had been put together specifically for this one task, just as he had been created and existed entirely for this one task. It had seemed so simple- to take, to seize, to kill whatever may attempt to stop him from reaching that goal. Capture the Dragon; that was what Strategos Folken had told Dilandau. Despite Folken's status as a former _prince_ of that country- A prince! A _prince_ for heaven's sake, and he claimed that he didn't know where the Escaflowne was kept! -Folken had told Dilandau that he did not know the location of the legendary guymelef. That in itself had not been a great disappointment, for it gave Dilandau an excuse to release the wonderful fire. It was not entirely illogical reasoning to believe that this Dragon could be smoked out as vermin were smoked out of thatched roofs and dwellings. And if it was, none of his underlings would dare tell him, and those few above him would only shake their heads and sigh, for it was of his usual nature to fail to act in accordance with logic. 

Beside the voice in his mind that whispered to Dilandau of his failure, there constantly spoke another. Dilandau had always prided himself upon his ability to read others, but the passive manner with which the Strategos had delivered his statement of his lack of knowledge of the location of the Escaflowne had left Dilandau absolutely clueless as to whether Folken had been lying. Dilandau had a hard time believing that, as the heir to the Fanelian throne, Folken really knew nothing about where the White Guymelef was kept. If Dilandau's suspicions were correct, Folken's leftover sentiments toward his country had caused Dilandau this humiliating failure. True, it was not due to some failure on Dilandau's own part that the odd pillar of white light had snatched away the Escaflowne before the Dragon Slayers could. However, if Folken had some knowledge of the exact whereabouts of the Escaflowne that could have allowed Dilandau to capture the Dragon before that damned light had, he would receive hell from the Dragon Slayers' commander before the sun sank. 

Of course, if Folken really did know nothing, then Dilandau would have a great deal of explaining to do once he had finished screaming at the Strategos. 

He released the railing and smirked. Since what time did Dilandau Albatou ever need to explain himself? Folken, on the other hand, would have a great deal of explaining to do. He had told Dilandau that all of the possibilities had been taken care of, _all_ of them, even those that seemed the least likely. Well, what the hell had that pillar of light been? Dilandau couldn't tell by the look on Folken's face, but he was damn certain that the Strategos had not predicted _that!_

Then again, maybe he had. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of that stony heart of his, Folken's loyalties still belonged to Fanelia. Perhaps Folken had summoned up that damn light to protect his little brother without revealing his sentiments to anyone.

Folken, with sentiments? Hah! _That_ would be the day! If Dilandau were to suddenly sprout wings like one of the Dragon-people, Folken would only stare at him passively. Of course, Dilandau couldn't really point fingers when it came to stony hearts, either. 

Yes, he could. Dilandau's heart was not made of stone. He was not a statue in some Asturian palace. His heart was made of fire, fire like the flames that had torn through Fanelia only a short time ago. Dilandau didn't understand how Folken could be so uncaring toward everything, when he himself threw his spirit into everything that he did. Why bother doing something if it won't be done with vigor and energy? 

Where had he been going with all this? 

What thought had he started at? 

Beneath Dilandau's feet, the last of fifteen blue Alseides units floated back up into the floating fortress Vione, and the lower hangar doors closed with the soft hum of machinery. 

Ah, yes. The root of the matter was that today the Dragon Slayers had failed to capture the Dragon, failed to fulfill their one purpose in life. 

Dilandau Albatou did not fail. He settled for no less than perfection from himself, and he would not allow his own men to hold themselves to lesser standards. If they wanted to be lazy, they could return to the gray armor of the ordinary Zaibach soldiers.

Dilandau Albatou was furious. Dilandau Albatou poured his energy into every aspect of his life, and the force of his anger made the very god of death himself quake.

Pity to the mortal men who would soon feel that anger. 

Dilandau turned away from the railing and strode back into the dark recesses of the Vione, the soles of his boots clicking loudly on the metal floor, the sound echoing through the halls. He folded his hands at the small of his back. His sword slapped against the side of his leg rhythmically as he walked. He passed from the fading light of the sun into the shadows and the pale, artificial light of the blue Zaibach torches that made everyone almost as pale as himself. The Dragon Slayers had all returned to the Vione and would be making their way quickly to his command room, if they knew what was good for them. Dilandau unlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. That sound had always irritated Folken, he recalled with delight. Oh, he was very much looking forward to this. 

Dilandau reached out and pressed a button on the wall, his finger a dark streak over the softly glowing glass. It was hard to think of anything as _soft_ in this place of hardness and sharp angles and lines, but there it was. The door opened smoothly with a quiet _whirr_, and he stepped through. 

Most of the Dragon Slayers had already assembled, and when they spied their leader they all dropped to their knees, pressing their faces to the floor. Ah, so they already knew that they were in trouble. Good. Dilandau allowed himself a moment to savor their cowering, quaking forms, lined up in two neat rows, before he snapped: "stand up!" 

"Yes sir!" came the reply in unison, and they leapt to their feet, standing board-straight, shoulders squared, in their two neat rows. 

_Just like puppets,_ Dilandau laughed to himself, _or trained dogs. Trained attack dogs._ And these nine weren't even the ones in the most trouble. Dilandau licked his lips in anticipation of the arrival of the other six, especially the doomed pair, and sat down in what he had heard the servants term his "throne," that chair in front of the lion statue. 

He hated that statue. He thought it ridiculously gaudy. He had General Adelphos to curse for the lion; the general _had_ always been one to enjoy pomp. At least Adelphos hadn't ordered a demon's face carved into the side of the Vione! Dilandau assumed that the statue had something to do with his surname. Apparently "Albatou" had been a lion-god that the people of Freid had used to worship or some other such nonsense, or so Dilandau had been told once when he was small. Dilandau had never thought of himself much as a lion. Were he a beast, he would be a serpent, or a bird of prey. Or perhaps a dragon, he thought, taking off his sword and shoving it in the mouth of that ludicrous lion statue, _that_ would be ironic. 

The Dragon Slayers remained standing there, terrified and stock-still, just like those stupid Asturian statues. Where were the other six, Dilandau wondered irritably. He hated it when anyone made him wait, but _especially_ when it was one of his own underlings he hated it. He entertained himself by fixing all of the present soldiers with threatening glares. Oh, look at them sweat! The first one to flinch, he decided, gets kitchen duty for a month. His unnerving, scarlet gaze wandered over his men, studying them closely, searching for any remaining imperfections that he might beat out of them. Dilandau Albatou was perfect, therefore, the Dragon Slayers should be, too. 

The door snapped open and the six remaining Dragon Slayers scurried in like black and blue wood mice, arms pumping at their sides, tassets flaring at their hips with their movement. Dilandau straightened with their entrance. 

And if the others had cowered, these six virtually _melted_, dropping immediately to their knees in a third row in front of the other nine. Good. All of the victims were here, he could unleash his wrath upon the two that had most incurred it today. Now, how to begin? 

"Let me get this straight," Dilandau spat out. All fifteen of them jerked. "You're telling me that you let those _bumpkin_ samurai damage two of my Alseides units? _Two?_" It was not the number itself that had him so angry. He would have been equally furious were it one Alseides damaged or the whole fifteen, because he tended to be either as angry as possible or not angry at all. The problem was that there should not have been an Alseides damaged at _all!_ Those Fanelian samurai had been little more than a bunch of simpleton woodcutters waving pitchforks and running around like a half-flooded ant colony! He didn't care if that White Guymelef was supposed to be legendary or magical or any of that folktale nonsense, and he didn't care that one of the warriors fighting against the Dragon Slayers had been Balgus Ganesha. Dilandau had never put any stock in "Legendary Swordsman of Gaea" status, either. Ganesha had died just as easily as any other mere mortal. No, his men had absolutely no excuse for the damage to their units. 

Dilandau stood. It had always unnerved everyone around him when he made sudden movements. "Chesta! Dalet! Step forward!" he ordered. Those two had been the guilty soldiers in the damaged Alseides guymelefs. Dilandau had expected as much from Dalet, Dalet wasn't exactly the most skilled member of the Dragon Slayers. (Though his mere status as a Dragon Slayer proved that his fighting skills were far above that of an ordinary samurai.) Chesta, however, was one of the best guymelef pilots in Zaibach, _the_ best in the Dragon Slayers apart from Dilandau himself, better with his Alseides than a sword. Alas, Chesta, the little blonde had performed miserably today by Dilandau's standards, and, judging by the mournful look on his youthful and very un-soldierlike face as he stepped forward, he knew it all too well. Dilandau struck both Dragon Slayers sharply with such force that he knocked them to the floor, a strike somewhere between a slap and a punch. He didn't want to actually _hurt_ them, hurt as in breaking bones, wounded soldiers couldn't fight for him. He _did_ want to leave a painful bruise. Dilandau had learned control from a very young age, how to control the exact amount of force to inflict specific degrees of injury and pain. The skill had proven very effective. 

Chesta and Dalet remained kneeling on the floor, staring up at him. Dalet's face showed only a hint of resentment; he had earned more punishings than the rest of the Dragon Slayers and was used to them by now- that is, earned more than the others, apart from those dealt out simply because Dilandau enjoyed slapping the Dragon Slayers around on occasion for really no reason other than for his own pleasure and to reinforce his dominance. Little Chesta, on the other hand, looked like he might cry, those big, blue eyes wide and pitiful. Dilandau had considered attempting to remove that weakness and innocence from Chesta, but his face seemed to make people more receptive to and trusting of the unit and their brutal ways, especially their allies. 

"I will not tolerate incompetents in my Dragon Slayers!" Dilandau snapped. "Do you understand me?" 

All of them cowered anew. Chesta and Dalet looked like they wanted to burrow down into the floor to hide from him. "Yes sir!" 

Dilandau turned, sitting back down in the chair in front of that ridiculous lion statue. Leaning against one armrest, he propped his feet up upon the other. Ah, large chairs were wonderful. "Get out of my sight," he ordered. "Now." 

"Yes sir!" they chorused. They bowed in unison. 

Dilandau smirked. He didn't believe that he had ever seen a room empty so quickly. It never ceased to amaze him how fast a teenage soldier, bone-weary from the day's battle, dressed in heavy armor, could move when fear of his leader prompted him. Dilandau chuckled to himself and reached for the half-empty bottle of red wine on the small, round table next to him. 

"Dilandau." 

Dilandau jerked in surprise, dropping the wine bottle. It shattered, scattering glittering, sharp shards of glass across the floor. The red wine splattered, like blood pouring forth from a fresh wound. The smell of alcohol filled the air. Dilandau looked up at the back of the room. 

It was hard to surprise Dilandau Albatou, but this was the man who could pull it off every time, as he had performed so many other seemingly impossible feats. 

"Folken, dammit!" Dilandau exclaimed, "why do you always sneak around like that? Have you been spending too much time around your pet Dopplegangers and whatever assorted other freaks you keep holed up in that laboratory of yours?" 

"Hmph." The Strategos glided forth from the corner of the room in which he usually stood while waiting for Dilandau's attention, the shadows pulling back slowly from his pale face, his black cloak swishing softly on the metal floor. The broken glass crunched beneath his shoes. "That was a very interesting little display of discipline that you just put on." 

"You think so? If you're surprised, you don't know me very well, Folken." Dilandau swung his legs over the armrest of the chair to sit up normally. "We've just begun a war today!" he proclaimed. "I can't have my men letting their opponents damage their Alseides units every time we go into battle! The next time they may not be facing a bunch of yokel swordsmen who barely know which end of the sword to hold!" 

Dilandau's display of confidence did not faze Folken. "Fanelia is well renowned for her military prowess, Dilandau. I think you underestimate your men. Lesser soldiers would have lost their lives today." 

"Pretty words from the man who sold out his country today, Strategos." Dilandau bit his index finger, the leather of his glove creaking- it tasted terrible, he noted, but then, it was not made for tasting -and watched Folken eagerly for a reaction to his words. 

Folken only looked back at him passively, the way that he always looked at Dilandau. Damn, now _that_ was control. It was no wonder that Emperor Dornkirk always used Folken as an ambassador. Didn't Folken ever have any emotions at all? Just one? Maybe he had slept in too long the day that they were handing them out, Dilandau thought wryly. 

"Fanelia is my country no longer," Folken told him. "My loyalties belong to Zaibach now." 

Dilandau rolled his eyes. "Sure, Strategos. Whatever you say." 

Folken sighed. "I need to speak with you, Dilandau." 

"Oh, you do?" Dilandau raised an eyebrow. "What would you call what we're doing now, then? It feels an awful lot like talking to me, but if I'm wrong, do please set me straight." 

"You know exactly what I mean. Come with me." 

Dilandau grinned. "Make me." 

"This is not the time, Dilandau." Folken's voice held a slight warning tone to it. 

"Oh, very well." Dilandau stood, sweeping aside the broken glass with his foot. The shattered pieces tinkled and clattered on the metal floor. He jerked his sword free from the lion statue and hooked it back onto this belt. 

"You're an insult to artists everywhere," Folken told him.

"Pah! This ugly piece of crap?" Dilandau waved a hand back at the lion statue. "Art is useless, whether it's actually good or not. What purpose does it serve? What is its function?" 

"To please the eye," Folken replied. 

"This one doesn't even do that much. You see? It's useless." 

Folken turned wordlessly, strode silently to the back of the room, and pressed his hand against the button on the wall to open the door. He used his real, organic hand, Dilandau noted, not his mechanical replacement. 

Was the Strategos ashamed of his mechanical arm, Dilandau wondered? He only wore that cloak outside of his own quarters, specifically to conceal the metal limb. Folken had told him that he kept his arm out of sight because it unnerved and even disgusted others. Dilandau didn't buy into that. He had sword sparred against Folken before, late in the night when no one would come upon them unbidden, and when the Strategos did not hold the hilt in both hands he gripped it in his right. Why teach himself to be ambidextrous when he had a perfectly good right arm, an arm that was, in fact, superior to an organic arm in almost every way? In that regard, Dilandau didn't understand Folken at all. He knew that his own vividly red eyes startled and frightened almost every person that looked at them, but Dilandau wasn't about to start hiding them behind dark glasses! 

Dilandau followed Folken through the door and down the cold, metal hallways. "Where are we going?" he asked. 

"Be patient. You'll see," the Strategos answered. 

"Why won't you tell me now? I hate it when people make me wait, Strategos!"

"And you have just proven to me again that you need to learn more patience." 

"Meh." 

Folken turned a corner, and they started up a long set of stairs. Well, this was interesting. The Dragon Slayers had nearly everything they needed on the lower floor. Dilandau rarely ventured to the topmost level of the Vione, where Folken had his own room and his laboratory. 

"Are you certain that you've told me everything that you know about that strange pillar of light?" Dilandau questioned, trying to break the silence. That was the thing that he hated most about the Vione, that heavy, lonely silence that settled, smothering, over everything. It wasn't the peaceful silence that accompanied the nighttime chirping of the crickets in Fanelia, or the soft running of the water through the canals in Palas. 

"I have," Folken answered. "What do you believe I could possibly gain by withholding information from you?" 

"With you, how the hell can I ever know?" Dilandau shrugged. "It's just that I feel like I've seen that light somewhere before." 

Folken glanced back at Dilandau with dark red eyes. "Really? Are you certain?" 

"Yeah. I don't know, maybe it was just a dream or something." 

"Even mere dreams can hold vast importance. Especially yours. You never dream." 

Their footsteps echoed loud and metallic. 

"I'll bet it has something to do with those damn Sorcerers," Dilandau added. 

Folken stopped. "It would serve you well to watch your mouth in the future," he warned. 

"Why?" Dilandau sneered. "Did I hurt your feelings because you used to be a Sorcerer?" 

"I admit that I do not always agree with their ways, but they are still men that you do not want to cross." 

They started climbing again. 

"Why not? What can they do to me? They can't touch me!" Dilandau grinned haughtily. "Wouldn't that defeat my entire purpose of existing if they harmed me? Even more if they killed me? They keep telling me every damn time I see them that I was created for Zaibach, and I live for Zaibach." Dilandau fluttered his hands abstractly. "Why throw away their own hard work?" 

The stairs ended, and they turned down another hallway. Dilandau had lost his sense of direction and location by now; these hallways all looked the same, and with the infrequency that he visited this level, he didn't have a clue of where he was. 

"You know that they have other means of exerting control that do not involve harming you," Folken reminded him. Dilandau immediately sobered. 

"They do." 

"Very good." Folken stopped at a door that looked exactly the same as all the others. "I want you to keep that in mind." He pressed the button on the wall, and the door slid open. 

Four green-and-black cloaked figures nodded their greetings. 

"Shit," Dilandau swore. "You planned this all out, didn't you, Strategos? I never even saw their ship arrive! If you think I'm staying here, you're damn wrong." He turned to leave. The cold, hard fingers of Folken's mechanical hand closed around Dilandau's arm. "Don't make me hurt you!" Dilandau warned. 

"Calm down, Dilandau," Folken told him. "They are only here to inspect you before this war begins full-out." 

"Inspect me?" Dilandau tried to pull his arm away, but the mechanical hand proved the stronger and refused to open. Probably the reason that Folken had used it. He had nothing to hide among this company. "There's nothing wrong with me!" Dilandau insisted. 

"_I_ know that, but it's for your own good, Dilandau," Folken told him. "It won't take long." Dilandau paused. Folken lowered his voice almost to a whisper, so that the Sorcerers could not hear him. "I promise that I will not let them 'do anything' to you." 

Dilandau sighed in resignation. "All right," he muttered, "let's get this damn thing over with." 

"Thank you." 

Dilandau walked around Folken, managing to shoulder him aside rudely in the process, and crossed into the small room. The door slid shut again behind the six figures. 

"Strategos Folken." The Sorcerers gave Folken more of a greeting now, bowing slightly to him from the waist. Folken, in turn, nodded to each. 

"Garufo. Foruma. Kuaru. Paruchi." 

Dilandau grimaced. His dealings with these men had been restricted to at most one a year, but that was plenty enough for him to know that he hated them with the burning passion of a thousand of the fires that had ravaged Fanelia. They took every opportunity possible to remind Dilandau that _they_ had created him for Zaibach, that he owed his very existence to _them_. That he was one of their little, white lab mice that they kept in a cold, dark cage of steel and stone. It was the first thing that they had ever said to him. Dilandau _hated_ owing _anything_ to _anyone._ Worse, they would never elaborate upon the meaning of "created him." Folken had explained to Dilandau that the Sorcerers had experimented with the creation of humans artificially, in a laboratory, as opposed to the womb; surely that was what they had meant. That would also explain why he had no memories of a mother; Dilandau didn't buy into the story. It didn't explain why his mind was a blank before the age of five. Ten years was not sufficient time to completely forget five. 

He could never remember the details of his encounter with the Sorcerers when they came to check his health, only their arrival and their departure, and that more than bothered him. That, perhaps, was the reason that he hated these men the most. 

And between each encounter, he had the memory of the hated faces to keep him company. Garufo, with his pointed beard that made him look as though he had stuck his chin in the icing upon a cake, and eyebrows that could have been two large and extremely furry caterpillars resting upon his face. Kuaru, the only one out of the four who could, perhaps, not be considered as ugly as a half-rotted piece of meat, a nondescript, blonde, middle-aged man. And then there was Foruma, whose long, thin, pale face brought to mind the image of what a retarded Doppleganger's transformation must look like. And finally, Paruchi. Dilandau often wondered if Paruchi actually polished that impressively bald head of his, or if it was naturally so shiny. 

Folken nudged Dilandau. "Have you nothing to say to your visitors, Dilandau?" 

"Oh, you know what _I_ want to say to them, Strategos." 

Garufo cleared his throat. "You did not alert our young commander to our arrival, Strategos Folken?" 

"If I had, do you really believe that he would have come up here with me so willingly?" Folken answered. 

Dilandau stepped back to watch this cold exchange with intense delight. As much as Folken tried to deny or hide it, Dilandau knew that he hated the Sorcerers at least as much as Dilandau himself. Dilandau could only assume that the Sorcerers envied Folken, not only because he was a literal genius, but also because they had wanted the position of Strategos and he, so much younger than they, had taken it. For Folken's part, Dilandau couldn't really see why he would hate the Sorcerers other than hating them back for all the hatred that they sent his way. Or, conflicting ideals, maybe. The Sorcerers' last visit had turned into a brawl over the issue of experimentation upon children. Dilandau had immensely enjoyed watching the normally calm and stoic Folken break Paruchi's nose and nearly decapitate Garufo with his sword in defense of the little urchins before the gray-armored Vione soldiers had rushed in and broken up the fight. 

"Shall we begin, then?" Kuaru gestured, with a sweeping motion of his arm, to the table of black metal in the center of the room. Dilandau shuddered when he spied the tough, leather straps built into the table's surface. By their positioning, they were clearly meant to hold down a human Something about them seemed familiar, and sent an uncharacteristic pang of fear through Dilandau. He looked to Folken questioningly. 

"It's all right. Just sit down," Folken told him. Dilandau reluctantly seated himself on the table. 

Foruma held out his hand. "Your sword, Commander Albatou." 

"There's no way in hell that I'm giving you my sword." 

Foruma looked to Folken. Folken sighed and stepped forward. "Give it to _me_, Dilandau." The tone in his voice left no room for argument. Dilandau took off his sword and belt and handed them to Folken. 

"And remember that I know how to kill a man with my bare hands," Dilandau warned, crimson eyes roving over the four Sorcerers. 

"We will keep that in mind," Paruchi told him, clearly dismissing the threat. "Your armor jacket too, please." 

"Strategos!" Dilandau looked to Folken. 

"Do as they tell you and this will be over all the faster." 

Keeping his eyes fixed on the Sorcerers, Dilandau slowly unfastened the hooks that held his jacket closed, pulled the garment off, and handed it to Folken. Folken neatly folded the jacket and draped it over his arm. "There. Is that all, or shall I strip naked?" Dilandau asked. 

"No, that will do." Garufo pushed his cloak back over his shoulders to get the long garment out of his way. The man could _not_ take a joke. 

He held a syringe in one hand. 

Dilandau pointed at the Sorcerer. "Oh, no! I've gone along with you up to now, but that thing does not come anywhere near me!" 

"Is that really necessary, Garufo?" Folken questioned. 

"Of course it is!" the Sorcerer snapped. 

"Why?" Dilandau demanded. 

"You prove my point exactly! It is necessary because it never fails, Folken, he resists us every step of the way until we put him to sleep!" 

"Folken!" Dilandau eyed Garufo. "Why do we have to keep doing this? _You're_ the Strategos! Can't they accept your judgment that I'm stable and healthy and I'm not going to go insane?" 

"I'm afraid not, Dilandau. They know you and your conditions far better than I." 

"You know me just as well as-" Dilandau broke off as the needle pierced his arm. Oh, _shit!_ "I warned you not to get that thing near me!" Dilandau grabbed Garufo's hand and twisted it; Garufo yelped and lost his grip on the syringe. Dilandau yanked the needle out of his arm, and a well-placed sweep of Garufo's legs sent the Sorcerer tumbling. Dilandau hopped off the table and snatched his armor and sword from a mildly surprised Folken. He slapped the button on the wall and darted out of the door before it had even opened completely. Kuaru chased after him as Foruma helped Garufo to his feet. 

"Folken! Help us catch him!" Garufo roared. 

Folken half-smiled. "He's your white mouse. _You_ get him back in his cage." 

Dilandau glanced back over his shoulder. He knew that Kuaru was the only Sorcerer out of the four who was still young enough to hope to pursue him. And there the blonde bastard was, flying out the door and running after him, arms pumping, gritting his teeth. At least Folken hadn't joined in the hunt, _Folken_ could give him a good run for his money. And Kuaru's steps fell heavy, making the floor ring far louder than Dilandau's light feet. Kuaru was not a soldier, he could not catch Dilandau. 

Except that, Dilandau realized as he leapt down the stairs by threes and fours, Garufo had managed to get some of that sleep drug into his blood before Dilandau had yanked the needle out. The faster Dilandau ran, the faster it would spread through his body. Kuaru didn't have to catch Dilandau, he only needed to keep Dilandau relatively in sight until the albino finally passed out. 

At the bottom of the steps Dilandau sprinted off in a new direction, his eyelids already growing heavy. 

He couldn't let the Sorcerer get a hold on him again. He had no solid memories to back it up, but every instinct in his mind and body screamed at him to get away while he still could, and he listened. 

By the time Dilandau reached the guymelef hangar his pace had slowed considerably, and he could hear Kuaru's footsteps ever closer behind him. It took every ounce of his strength to pull himself up the stairs. He tossed his armor jacket and sword into the Alseides and crawled in after them. 

"Open hangar doors," Dilandau ordered with the last of his breath. The floor split open beneath him, trapping Kuaru on the bridge spanning the hangar. 

Good. He'd made it. He would be out of the Vione before the Sorcerer reached his guymelef. Dilandau's eyes, his limbs...all felt so heavy...he closed his eyes and released his guymelef from the hangar. 

The red Alseides fell. 

Kuaru watched the unit descend. Shouldn't Dilandau be activating the flight mode now? Unless their drug had finally taken effect. Oh, no! Dilandau couldn't possibly be _asleep_ in there! 

But the red Alseides fell. 

And then a white pillar of light shot down from the sky, and the red Alseides began to rise. 

You see, the Mystic Moon had been very bright in the sky as of late. 


	2. Chapter 2: The Price of a Human Life

A/N: Happy New Year, everybody! Ne, I wasn't quite sure how to describe a Folken/Dune kind of hairstyle without coming right out and saying "he had a supermullet," so if I didn't quite get the message across, that's what I was shooting for.

Feye Morgan- I have a track record? All right! So, you thought it started off quickly? Oh, good. I was afraid that it was too slow.  
Wink57CS- That was a lot of wows…I must be doing something right. \^_^  
blue ice 2- Thank you!  
Feathers of snow (Honeypot- Erm…well, I wasn't really planning on making it Dilandau x Hitomi, but I guess anything could happen.  
NeverEndingQuest- Thank you!  
Burnt Ashes- Thank you! I was worried that Folken was coming off a little too mean. I didn't want it to seem like he was just _giving_ Dilandau to the madoushi.  
Mary-chan- Thank you!  
DeadlyBeauty1- Yea! A cookie! *Eats cookie* Oishii!

  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 2- The Price of a Human Life**

  
Dilandau woke in chains. That, he soon found as he came to full consciousness, was not his largest problem, but it was, perhaps, his most immediate one. That, and the fact that he was sitting on the floor of an iron-barred prison. 

No, it wasn't a prison. It was a cage, because it was located outside, in some sort of marketplace. At least, since he could see a merchant selling brightly colored cloth across the street, he assumed that he was in a marketplace. Prisons weren't usually located out in the open, in the view of the ordinary citizens. But the cage, too, was not his largest problem. 

He had been stripped. Someone had relieved him of his sword, his armor- of everything, including his clothes. Like the several other people who stood with him, he was as naked as the day he was born. A road-thief had probably found him before he had woken up and robbed him. Even his dog tag and his diadem were gone. He could probably count on never seeing his sword again. But, even _that_ was not his largest problem. 

If he stood on his toes in the dirt, Dilandau could see the tops of trees in the distance, over the roofs of what he could only assume were shops and possibly homes. Those trees had turned a brilliant and beautiful gold for the autumn season. Several red and orange leaves fluttered past his bare feet on the floor of the cage. The bright sun that hurt his eyes blazed hot in the sky, but the breeze had a hint of coolness on it. Down the street, he could see a fruit seller ridding himself of the last of his midyear wares- peaches and strawberries and the like- to make way for those that ripened later in the year- apples and oranges and pomegranates. All around him, Dilandau saw the signs of autumn. 

It had been the middle of summer back in Fanelia. 

"Where the hell am I?" Dilandau muttered, grasping the cold bars of the cage. "Or should I be wondering _when_ I am first, and where later? I suppose this could be somewhere around the Freid-Asturia border, but that would mean that the Sorcerers' drug knocked me out for at least two months. Even they wouldn't do _that,_ and if they _had_, I would have starved to death by now. I probably wasn't out for more than a day, at the very most." 

An ugly, toadlike man in fine clothing rapped Dilandau's knuckles with a stick. "Back, you!" he ordered. "Get away from there! Don't you start getting any ideas!" 

Dilandau glared at the man. He would have put his hands on his hips, if the chain that connected his wrists had been long enough to allow such a motion. "Who are you to talk to me like that?" Dilandau demanded. "And for that matter, what the hell am I doing in this cage, chained up like a prisoner? Where am I?" 

"Forgetting our place, are we, Drifter?" The man reached between the bars to hit Dilandau in the head with his stick. 

"Stop that!" Dilandau snatched the stick away. 

"You're a feisty one, aren't you?" Suddenly the stick was back in the man's gnarled hands. Dilandau blinked, stunned. He had not even seen the man reach for it! 

The man poked him in the ribs. "You shut up and do what you're told!" he snapped. "You're so skinny I'll have enough trouble selling you as it is, and you do _not_ want to make it any harder!" 

"_Selling_ me?" Dilandau reached through the bars to grab the man's collar, but he jumped back and slapped Dilandau's hand with that damn stick again. "You can't _sell_ me!" Dilandau argued. 

The man sniffed and drew himself up self-importantly. "Well, of course I can! We couldn't have you Drifters just running around doing whatever you wanted, now, could we? Of _course_ not!" And he turned his back to Dilandau. 

The man's words didn't make any sense! What the hell was a Drifter, anyway? And why did he think that Dilandau was one? Shouldn't he have to know what a Drifter was, in order to be one? All of this was greatly beginning to disturb Dilandau. 

But the one detail that unnerved him the most was that, on his right cheek, beneath his eye, this ugly, overbearing man had a purple, teardrop-shaped tattoo exactly the same as the one that Dilandau knew so well from Folken's face. He had two pink dots on his forehead, too, but Dilandau dismissed them as birthmarks. Did Folken _know_ this disgusting little man? This was all starting to make Dilandau's head hurt. What in the name of Asturia's sea-dragon god Jichia was going on here? 

Dilandau examined the manacles around his wrists and ankles. They were only made of iron, but there was no way that he would be able to break them. Even stranger, he could see no lock or any kind of fasteners on them. It was as though the metal had been bent into a circle around his limbs and then welded closed. The cage that he stood in was the same. He couldn't even see a door on the thing! What, had several strong men come and lifted it up and rolled him inside? But even that couldn't have worked, because the cage was a fixed structure, the corner poles rammed solidly into the ground. 

Dilandau leaned against the back of the cage, the only thing that he _could_ do. At least the damn thing had a canvas overhang above it, and it was up against a stone wall, and the combination of the two offered his pale skin relief from the sun. He didn't so much mind being naked, a lifetime of community showers had rid him of _that_ kind of modesty. Though, clothes would have made him feel a little more in control of the situation. Not that he had any sort of control at the moment. Come to think of it, that was probably the precise reason that he was naked- to take away any feeling of control that he might have left. The little man couldn't possibly keep him standing in this cage forever. Eventually, something would _have_ to happen. 

Eventually, something _did_ happen. Another man broke off from the crowd of people wandering up and down the street and spoke to the ugly toad man. Even if their words had been loud enough for Dilandau to make out, he still wouldn't have listened. This new man made him stop and stare, even more dumbfounded. 

This new man had a purple teardrop on his cheek and purple streaks in the corners of his eyes, just like Folken. He wore a purple-lined, high-collared, black cloak that brushed the ground when he walked, just like Folken. He even fastened it with a red spade over his left breast, and gold and red, glass bead ornaments dangled from the corners of the cloak's collar. Was Dilandau still asleep? Was this some sort of twisted nightmare that the Sorcerers had fabricated? If this new man who dressed like Folken had a mechanical right arm…damn, he didn't know _what_ he would do then! 

Apparently satisfied with what he had heard, the new man strode to stand closer to the cage. He didn't look quite as much like Folken close up. He had high cheekbones and an aristocratic face, and intelligent eyes of a vivid shade of purple. (Not to say that Folken's eyes weren't intelligent, either; they were probably more so, but Dilandau had never taken the time to observe the Strategos's eyes.) He was not so pale as Folken, but his hair was just as odd and somewhat similar. Such a dark black that it turned blue when the light struck it right, long in the back, it disappeared down the collar of his cloak so that its length could not be determined. The rest of it, probably about chin-length were it down, stood out on end in a manner that Dilandau could only describe as puffy. An exaggerated Folken. He had the same birthmark as the ugly man, those two pink dots on his forehead. Perhaps it wasn't a birthmark after all? He had Folken's passive, stoic air about him, but at the same time there was something haughty and dominating in his face that Folken had never possessed but that Dilandau had sometimes detected in the Sorcerers or Adelphos. Dilandau ventured closer to the bars of the cage, still staring. Who _was_ this new man? Hell, who was the old one, the ugly one, too? 

The toadlike man bobbed a bow to the new man. For goodness' sakes, when would Dilandau be able to put names to these people? 

"So good to see you again, Lord Shays," the ugly man said, "in the market for another slave, are we?" 

Dilandau blinked. Slave? _Slave?_ So this ugly little man was a slave trader? Suddenly the world swam before his eyes. Oh, damn the Sorcerers! Someone must have found him while their drug was still in effect and _sold_ him! Where on Gaea did they still practice slavery? Basram? Daedalus? Cesario? Rampant? No, none of those. 

"I am," the one called Shays replied. Well, at least Dilandau didn't have to keep thinking of him as 'the new man.' "A horse kicked one of mine in the face and killed him. I'll need another to replace him, at least for the harvest." 

"Yes, yes, of course." 

"Your selection has been rather thin of late." Shays scanned the slaves standing with Dilandau in the cage. "Is this all you have?" 

"Well, it is late in the season." The slave trader rubbed his hands together greedily. "I assure you that you'll find exactly what you're looking for, though." 

"I hope so." Shays paced the length of the cage slowly. He stopped at Dilandau. "Is this one the best that you have?" 

"Well, yes, Lord Shays, I would say that he is the best that I have at the moment. The others have been ill, you know, and I just got this one in yesterday." 

Shays scanned Dilandau up and down. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, and he seemed very uncertain that Dilandau fit those standards. "He looks like he's never stepped into the sun once in his life. I've never seen someone so pale." 

"I'm an albino," Dilandau growled. "Of course I'm pale." 

Shays's eyebrows lifted in surprise. He seemed more taken aback that Dilandau had spoken to him than that Dilandau was an albino. Shays reached through the bars and grasped Dilandau's chin in his hand, tilting Dilandau's face more toward the light. "So he is. That's very interesting." 

"Yes, a prize indeed," the slave trader agreed. "You'll never find another like him anywhere else." 

"I'm looking for a worker, not a peacock." Shays released Dilandau. "No, I don't think so. He's far too thin. He'll be too weak for me to get any decent work out of him." 

"Weak?" Dilandau's eye twitched in irritation and anger, and he gripped the bars of the cage again. "Now, look here! I'm not an animal! You can't sell me!" 

"Of course I can!" The trader waved his stick at Dilandau. "Pipe down and don't speak until you're spoken to!" 

Shays appeared to be thinking. "He has a lot of spirit." 

"Oh, yes, a great deal of spirit," the trader agreed. "He'll work hard, you can be sure of that." 

Shays tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing in consideration. "But I wonder if he won't be a problem. He doesn't seem to have learned his place yet. I don't want a slave who will only give me trouble." 

"Oh, but I'm certain that with _your_ talents, you'll be able to break him in no time at all." 

"Of course I can." 

All right, that did it. This man was about to sell Dilandau as a slave to a man who bore suspicious similarities to Folken. Dilandau had received a high quality education in Zaibach, and he _knew_ that none of the countries on Gaea, not even the smallest, most backwater ones- so, not even Fanelia, which had just in Dilandau's own lifetime switched from chickens to coins as the currency -still practiced slavery. It seemed safe to assume that he was still on Gaea, he could see the moon and the Mystic Moon in the sky. If he ever made it back to Zaibach, Dilandau swore, he would personally hunt down and kill every damned Sorcerer there was! What the _hell_ was going on here? _Someone_ certainly had some explaining to do! 

"Hey, you! Shays, or whatever your name is!" Dilandau's knuckles turned white as he tightened his hands around the bars of the cage. "I don't know who the hell you are, but I can tell you that I am _not_ a slave or a Drifter or any of the things that you keep calling me! I am the commander of the Zaibach Empire's Dragon Slayers, and if you don't let me the hell out of here right now, I swear I'll-"

"I've told you for the last time!" The slave trader gave Dilandau a knock in the head with his stick that sent the albino's vision spinning for a moment. Shays fixed Dilandau firmly in his sight, and a very odd and somehow wrong feeling rushed through him. He opened his mouth to protest his treatment once again, but no sound came forth from his lips. 

"There. Now we can speak without interruption," Shays said. 

"Oh, thank you very much, Lord Shays. I never did master that one." The slave trader bobbed another bow. "It seems that, perhaps, he is not quite right in the head," he continued apologetically. "He may just have had a bit too much time in the sun." 

"Perhaps. He is quite pale." 

"But even so, wouldn't his condition not make him the perfect choice, considering your order of work?" 

"On the contrary, Jay keeps my hands plenty full enough. I don't need another to deal with yet." Still, Shays did not entirely reject the idea. "You do have a point, though." 

"Indeed, Lord Shays, indeed." 

"And he has a pretty face. Mother would probably enjoy having him work in the house when we don't need him outside." 

"Oh, yes, a very pretty face." 

Dilandau frowned. Pretty face! Shays should talk! Pretty face! 

Shays looked away from Dilandau to the slave trader. "How much do you want for him?" 

Dilandau shook the bars. They couldn't sell him! They couldn't sell him! He was a person, not a piece of merchandise! He wasn't that white bolt of cloth across the street! He wasn't that yellow apple up the road! 

The slave trader grinned. "Fifty thousand," he answered. 

"Absolutely not. That price is far too high for a slave of questionable quality." 

"A man has to make a living." 

"I'll take him for twenty," Shays told the trader. 

"How about forty, then?" the trader argued. 

"I'll not pay you any more than thirty. If you will not lower your price, I'll take my business elsewhere." 

The slave trader shook his head. "You drive a hard bargain, Lord Shays. Thirty thousand it is, then." 

"Done." Shays produced a pouch from somewhere beneath his cloak and counted out the gold-colored coins into the trader's greedy hand. 

Dilandau's mind reeled. For once, he couldn't act, couldn't even think save for one sentence that ran through his head over and over. The man had sold him. The man had _sold_ him. _The man had sold him._

"Thank you, Lord Shays. Always a pleasure doing business with you and yours." The coins in the slave trader's hand disappeared into some hidden pocket. "Do give my regards to your father." 

"I shall." Shays turned to Dilandau. "You, slave." Dilandau looked up at him. The man's voice had suddenly turned icy cold and taken on a tone that left no room for argument- not that it was exactly warm before. "In a moment I'll give you your voice back. I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense that you've been spouting. I don't see any sort of kismet marks on your face at all; therefore, you are a Drifter and by the same token a slave. I've had difficult ones like you before and it will not be a problem to break you just as I have broken them. Do I make myself absolutely clear?" Dilandau nodded. Considering the current situation, what else could he do? At present it seemed the wisest to cooperate for now, and watch, and wait. 

The strange and wrong feeling filled him again, and he had his voice back. Not only that, but he was suddenly standing _outside_ of the cage, wearing pants and a tunic of a rough, brown cloth. Where had they come from? How had he gotten out here when the cage didn't even have a door? 

"He had these things with him when he was captured." The slave trader passed a canvas bag to Shays. "Nothing of value, really, but a few interesting little objects." 

"Is that so?" Shays opened the bag, gave its contents a cursory inspection, and reached in. "These are fine things for a Drifter." He held up Dilandau's sword, still sheathed. "Probably all stolen." 

"Stolen!" Dilandau retorted, "I'll have you know that every single thing that they took off of me _belongs_ to me!" 

Shays fixed him with a cold stare. "Shall I take away your voice again, Slave? You do not need it in order to work." 

Dilandau's cheeks flushed in anger. He needed to play along for now, he reminded himself. "If I am to be a slave, at least let me keep some of my dignity. I'm not a liar and I'm not a thief." 

"Slaves have no dignity or honor." Shays pressed his lips together in a thin line and lifted his chin haughtily, perhaps trying to check his own temper. "We'll see about this. If I find that these things really are stolen, do not expect to avoid punishment." He dropped the sword back into the bag and reached in again, and held up Dilandau's diadem. The lavender stone sparkled in the light. "This is an odd piece of jewelry. I can't imagine where it came from." He tossed the diadem into the bag with the rest of Dilandau's things, pulled the drawstring shut, and handed it to Dilandau. "You'll carry this. I need not tell you not to open it." 

Dilandau bit his tongue to keep from snapping back at Shays. "How about unchaining me?" 

"No. I don't think so. Not yet. And you will address me as 'Master' when you speak to me." 

"Yes, _Master_," Dilandau spat out. If looks were swords, Shays would have died with a hundred stab wounds by now. 

Shays sighed tolerantly. "You will come with me. Walk behind me." 

"I can't walk with my feet chained together, _Master,_" Dilandau told him acidly. 

Shays tilted his head to the side. "Look down at your feet, Slave. It would do you well to be more observant." Dilandau looked down. The manacles had vanished from his bare feet. When had that happened? He just might go crazy for real in this place, with all these things disappearing and reappearing and changing places. Dilandau looked back up at Shays. 

"Where did the chains go? I _know_ that nobody unlocked them." 

Shays's face seemed to soften just slightly. "You really have no idea?" he asked Dilandau, in the same voice that he might use to speak to a child. 

"I really have no idea what the hell is going on here," the albino told him. "Really." 

Shays thought a moment. "You're right, perhaps destiny did send this one to me," he mused. "No. He's a Drifter. If he were mad he wouldn't have lasted this long. I'm sure he's only had a trauma to the head, or perhaps he _has_ been out in the sun too long. I'm sure he'll remember everything in a few days." Shays re-focused his attention on Dilandau. "Let me jog your memory, Slave," he said coldly, and pointed to the marks on his face. "Since you seem to have forgotten what the kismet marks mean, these tell you that I'm a High Artisan. That means that you belong to me now. You are my property. You will do exactly as I say without hesitation. Do you understand me?" 

"I'd understand you better if you'd answer my damn question," Dilandau retorted. 

Shays's face hardened, if that was possible. Dilandau had already frustrated him enough. He had impressive patience. "Your feet are no longer chained because I willed it that your fate was not to remain chained. If you're playing ignorant in hope of getting lighter work just because I wear the violet cloak, it won't work. I don't need a mad slave. If you don't straighten your mind out soon, I'll kill you and buy another to replace you. You were cheap. You'll hardly be a loss if I throw you away. It will do you good for the future to remember that you're disposable." 

Dilandau looked Shays straight in the eye, aware that the action lost some of its effect due to the fact that he had to look _up_ to meet the taller man's gaze. "I'm not afraid of you," he said evenly. 

Shays lifted his chin again, his cheeks flushing pink, violet eyes flashing with anger. "I care not. Your opinions mean absolutely nothing. Now, follow me." Shays spun around neatly and walked with long strides away from the slave trader and the cage. Dilandau fell into step beside Shays. It seemed wise to do as he said, until Dilandau learned more about where he was…or at least until he learned where the hell on Gaea he was in the first place! 

Shays stopped. "You will walk _behind_ me, Slave," he told Dilandau, his voice hinting at irritation and anger. 

Dilandau smirked. "If I'm behind you, how can you be sure that I won't run away? _Master_," he added. 

Shays struck Dilandau sharply in the cheek, the force of the blow causing the albino to stumble backwards. "I have not willed it that you should be able to run away. Your fate, until I see fit to alter it, is that you should serve me. You _will_ obey me, and consider yourself lucky that I don't take a whip to you right now and let you drag yourself all the way home." 

Pressing a hand to his stinging cheek, Dilandau took a quick glance around. Nobody had even looked in their direction. If this scene happened in Zaibach or Asturia, a crowd would be gathering. But here, nobody noticed. There was nobody that could help him. He was alone. 

He was alone. 

"Yes, Master," Dilandau mumbled. Shays's temper seemed to cool a bit. 

"Very good. Now, follow me." 

Dilandau trailed along behind Shays. The man couldn't punish him for fuming. Well, Dilandau supposed that he could, if Dilandau really was a slave now, but that would require Shays turning around and noticing that Dilandau was fuming, and he was now paying absolutely no attention to Dilandau whatsoever. Dilandau considered an escape plan, but rejected it. That would probably be just the thing that would catch Shays's attention again, and, for now, it would probably be beneficial to be on his good side. For now. 

Well, Dilandau mused, this Shays seemed to be in either good standing with or a good deal feared by the community. Nobody shot looks in Shays's direction or any such disrespect as he passed, and they _did_ clear a way for him to move by. Dilandau looked carefully at the faces of the people that they passed, and, with the exception of the crudely dressed number that were clearly other slaves, every single one had the purple teardrop on the right cheek, under the eye, just like Folken. A few also had the streaks in the corners of their eyes and the black cloaks, and on them the lining of the cloak changed colors. Shays wore purple, but Dilandau also saw red, green, blue. _The color must mean something, then,_ he thought to himself, but he saw no other consistencies that would clue him in as to what those colors meant. _Everybody,_ except for Dilandau, had the birthmark, the two pink dots. Maybe they all had the same ancestors, or something. He would investigate that later. They clearly weren't important. Shays had pointed to the purple marks on his face, not the two pink dots. 

Apart from the presence of slaves, this could have been any Gaean town. By the large trees around them, Dilandau would have sworn that they were in Fanelia had he not just burned it to the ground. Wherever this town was, it was a good distance inward, Dilandau decided. He smelled no salt, seaweed, or fish, and he heard no cry of seagulls or the crash of waves that would indicate an oceanside city. He saw no animal-people, either, but that was not so odd. There were none of them in Zaibach or Freid, either, and few in the former Fanelia; they mostly lived in Asturia. He had a faint memory of having met a Zaibach dog-man once, as a child, but his accent had been Asturian, so he didn't count. 

The sunlight had taken on just a hint of the gold that it turned when it set, and Dilandau guessed that they were nearing the edge of the city- they had not walked long, but the day grew late -when Shays, finally looking back to check that his new slave still followed him, led Dilandau up onto a platform raised only a step above the ground. The tile felt smooth and cold under Dilandau's bare feet, and he looked down in interest at the pattern picked out in the rainbow colors. Did the swirls and patterns have meaning, he wondered, or was it simply an attractive design? More of that art that he had just relayed his hatred of to Folken only a day ago? 

When he looked up, the scenery had changed. The platform that they stood on was the same, yes, excepting minute differences in the alignment of the colored tiles that Dilandau attributed to human error. Clearly someone had made a lot of these things and intended them all to be the same, but these people did not mass-produce things by machine as Zaibach did. 

He seriously wondered if he was not somewhere in Asturia, perhaps on the outskirts. If that were the case, he might be able to get some help. The kingdom kept manned outposts along even its farthest borders. In the case of their failure to capture the Dragon, Folken had already made plans to stop at one- Castelo, he thought it was called, in the charge of some Knight Caeli named Allen Schezar- for supplies. 

A break in the trees gave way to plains for a distance, and beyond them Dilandau could see purple mountains. Those mountains surrounded them, eventually, on all sides. The Floresta Mountains had never been fully explored, not yet, Dilandau remembered. Perhaps this country was located someplace in the middle of the range where no one had yet mapped. But, if he was the first person from Zaibach to ever see this place, then why did Shays remind him so much of Folken? And why did every person, besides the slaves, have a purple teardrop on his cheek? 

"Slave!" Shays's voice broke sharply through Dilandau's thoughts. "You will follow me!" 

Dilandau slung the bag over his shoulder again and trailed after Shays. They stepped down off the tiled platform, and Shays led him down a dusty, dirt path as the sun sank farther, staining the air a full gold. 

Dilandau found himself wishing that he had shoes as he followed after Shays. He did not mind that he had to walk everywhere in this place. So far it was nothing compared to the distance he had to travel on foot daily on the Vione. But unlike in the city, this path was not clear of stones, and one had already cut his foot. He left dark spots in the packed dirt as he walked. He tried to pick his way around the sharpest-looking ones and still keep up behind Shays. Yes, surely they were somewhere concealed in the Floresta Mountains. 

Except that, even to one as ignorant to the subtleties of architecture as Dilandau, it was obvious that the structure that they approached was _not_ of Asturian build. It rose before them, a black blot against the bright sky, all turrets and spires and stone as dark as Shays's cloak. He had never seen a castle before. The thing was gigantic, in Dilandau's opinion, as large as the palace in Asturia, though it helped that his eyes had nothing to compare it to but the wide sky and the rolling land and forest. A shudder passed through Dilandau. This place reminded him too much of home, now, at least in color. Of course, no builder in his right mind in Zaibach would make a structure such as this. He would hardly call it functional. 

Now they approached the main gate to the iron fence that circled the castle. It stood far taller than Dilandau's head, shut. He could only assume that it was locked- why bother closing it, otherwise? -but Shays produced no key or even slowed as he approached. 

Dilandau blinked hard. He shook his head. Those gates _were_ just shut, he knew it! But now…now they stood wide open! How had that happened? He looked up at Shays, who continued through the gate as if nothing were amiss. 

Dilandau stopped to stare at the gate for a moment. It had snowflakes between the black bars, and not one looked the same as another. Someone had taken a lot of time to create such painstaking detail. What was something so beautiful and delicate as a snowflake doing on this gothic building? 

"Slave!" Shays snapped. Dilandau whirled around, the canvas bag slapping him in the back. "I did not give you permission to stop, nor to stare at the gate!" 

Dilandau set his jaw stubbornly, his eyes glittering defiantly, and trudged after Shays. At least now the packed dirt road gave way to smooth, gray stones and soft grass, still green. He thought that they would go inside, but Shays led him around the side of the building and out through another set of gates. 

They went to what must, for the most of the year, serve as flower beds in a probably beautiful garden. At the present they only held the dry, brittle, brown skeletons of beauty, leaves and seed pods clattering together in the wind. It took Dilandau a moment to notice the brown-clad man stooped over the dead flowers, down on his knees in the soil. 

They stopped walking. "Arias," Shays said. The man on the ground jumped immediately to his feet, the way the Dragon Slayers always had at the sound of Dilandau's voice. 

"Yes, Master?" he asked. 

Shays gave Dilandau a push forward. "This is the new one. He'll help you for the rest of the day, but I want him in the vineyards come tomorrow." 

"Of course, Master. As you wish." Arias bowed to Shays. 

Dilandau looked back over his shoulder, but Shays had vanished, along with the bag and the manacles around Dilandau's wrists. "How the hell does he do that?" Dilandau muttered. 

Arias looked at Dilandau as if he had just asked how to breathe. "Why, the Master simply willed it that it was not his fate for him to remain here, or for your hands to still be chained or for you to have the bag," he answered, as if it were the most simple thing in the world. He approached Dilandau, limping, Dilandau noted, favoring his left leg. Was this the one who had gotten kicked by the horse? No, that one had gotten it in the face and died. "My name is Arias," he said, offering Dilandau a callused hand. 

Dilandau did not take it. "Arias what?" he asked. 

Arias dropped his hand, his dark eyes confused. "Only Arias," he answered. "Drifters don't have surnames." 

Dilandau sighed in frustration. "And what the hell is a Drifter?" he demanded. 

"You don't know?" Arias asked him, genuinely puzzled. "Why, you are. I am." 

Dilandau clenched his hands into fists and tried to control his temper. "I'm not from around here," he said slowly. "I don't know how your society works." 

Arias gestured for Dilandau to come and limped back to the dead flower bed. "We shouldn't stand around too long, or the masters will get angry. Here, it's easy. Pull off the seed pods and toss them in this basket here." He wiped his hands on his rough, brown tunic and reached for the dead flowers. 

Dilandau knelt across from Arias to keep an eye on him. The slave could, he supposed, be considered handsome, more so if he were not so dirty and the elements had not weathered his skin. His dark, chin-length hair hung in his face as he worked, constantly causing him to have to push it back behind his ears. Dilandau decided that he might like Arias. He was clearly older than Dilandau, but still young. He had a mild, submissive quality about him that Dilandau had come to find that he liked in his subordinates. And he didn't have a teardrop on his cheek, though he still had that strange birthmark. "What's your name?" Arias asked. 

Dilandau made no move to touch the dead plants. "Commander Dilandau Albatou," he answered. 

"Albatou. That's a powerful name," Arias told him, a note of respect entering his voice. "Commander? You really aren't from around here, are you?" 

"I'm from the Zaibach Empire," Dilandau told him. 

"Zaibach? I've never heard of that place before. How did you get here?" 

"I don't know." Arias didn't find this tale at all strange? For a slave, he seemed awfully cheerful. 

"Is Zaibach a very different place?" Arias asked. 

"Like night and day." 

"You must have some questions, then. Master Shays lets me show the new ones around. I'm not good for much else, not anymore." Arias looked up. "Ask, but please, work. The masters will know if you haven't been working, and they'll punish you." He scraped a dark lock of hair back behind his ear. 

Dilandau reached for a plant and took a deep breath. He planned to get as much out of Arias as he could. "What's a Drifter?" 


	3. Chapter 3: Where are You, Dragon Soldier...

A/N: Yes, I know that infrared sight is usually a color/s other than green, but green and Zaibach technology just seem to go together. And, waah! What happened to everybody who reviewed the first chapter! I had eight reviews for chapter one, and only two for chapter two! Was chapter two not good?  
NeverEndingQuest- Thank you!  
Feathers of snow (Honeypot- Yeah, I thought it would be pretty ironic. His role in life is now exactly the opposite of what it was before. Thank you! 

**

La Ra Everlasting Frost

Chapter 3- Where are You, Dragon Soldier?

**

Kuaru watched in frustration as the pillar of light in the sky dissolved, taking with it the red Alseides. Which one of the Sorcerers had done that, he wondered irritably? Fate was sometimes unpredictable, but he was certain that Zaibach had complete control over its machines. Well, there would be no chasing after Dilandau now. He could be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, including on the Mystic Moon. He hoped that the light hadn't dropped the young albino into an active volcano, or in the middle of the ocean, or somewhere else fatal. 

Unfortunately, they would _have_ to find Dilandau as soon as was humanly possible. Emperor Dornkirk needed that dragon, and it would be immensely more difficult to find without their Dragon Slayer. Dilandau had been the tool that they had created specifically for that purpose. A house could be built with no nails, as the saying went, but it would be easier if one had some.

Another thought occurred to him. Strategos Folken would be furious when he found out that Dilandau was gone. It wasn't that the Sorcerers were terribly fond of Folken, but he _did_ outrank them, and he had an odd affection for Dilandau that none of them had ever understood.

Gasping for breath, his legs and side aching, Kuaru turned to return to his associates.

It gave Folken a significant amount of satisfaction and pleasure to see Kuaru stagger back into the room and fall into a chair, still panting. "So, I see that Dilandau gave you a good chase, did he?" Folken asked.

"Good chase! Strategos Folken, I am a scientist, not a soldier!" Kuaru reminded him. "We designed him to be able to run quickly! If _I_ could catch him, we've done our job wrong! You should congratulate me that I managed to keep him in sight at all!"

"Let me remind you that he was drugged. It doesn't matter, anyway." Folken looked down at the exhausted Sorcerer. "Well, where is he?"

"I have no damned idea!" Kuaru snapped irritably, and gratefully took the glass of water that Foruma handed him. "I have absolutely no damned idea!"

Folken frowned. "You must have some idea. Where did he get away from you? He's probably asleep in a corner somewhere, by now.

"If only we could be so lucky!" Kuaru downed the glass of water in one gulp. "He went to the hangar. By the time I arrived he had already gotten into his Alseides. He launched, and our pillar of light took him from the sky. Who knows where the hell he is now?"

"The pillar of light?" Folken frowned and looked to Garufo. "It interfered with our capture of the Escaflowne, too. I told you that machine was dangerous. It's too unpredictable. You should have dismantled it."

"It must have been tampered with," Garufo grumbled. "It was working perfectly before we came, and I left orders for no one to touch it."

"Another good reason to destroy it, wouldn't you say?" Folken asked.

Garufo glared at Folken. "What would you know of it?"

"I know that without it, Dilandau would be here right now and the dragon would be safely in our hands." Folken sighed inwardly. This would be a very crucial time in the war. If it started too badly, everything could spiral downward from here. Zaibach couldn't afford to lose her best commander right now.

"You can find him, can't you?" Paruchi asked, a note of defensiveness in his voice. "Or is that tracker you put on him broken?"

"Unlike your machine, it _is_ functioning perfectly." Folken went to a dark screen on the wall. At the touch of his organic hand, it lit up. The Sorcerers crowded around Folken- all except for Kuaru, who couldn't quite muster the energy to get out of the chair yet -as he entered the codes and passwords. Folken hoped that the Sorcerer would die from his exhaustion, though he knew that a good run wasn't enough to kill a man. Reaching what he desired, Folken lowered his arm and studied the words and numbers on the screen. He frowned. "This doesn't make sense. I can't find him."

"Functioning perfectly, is it?" Paruchi asked smugly.

"We can probably thank your light for that. Likely it damaged the diadem."

"Our light?" Paruchi looked highly offended. "Dilandau probably damaged it himself, the little maniac."

"No, Dilandau has no idea that it's anything more than a piece of jewelry." Folken touched the screen again, bringing up different numbers.

Foruma peered over Folken's shoulder. "Body temperature, seventy? Pulse zero? He's dead," he announced.

Folken resisted the urge to give the Sorcerer a good knock in the head. "These same results would appear," he said, tapping the screen with a mechanical finger, "if he were to remove the diadem."

"Pah!" Garufo snorted, "why would he take it off? I've never seen him without it ever since you gave it to him!"

"He was asleep by the time he launched his Alseides, wasn't he?" Folken asked. "He probably crashed. It could have fallen off."

"Or he could be dead," Foruma finished.

Folken had to pause and take a deep breath before he could reply. "You sound as if you're hoping that he _is_ dead."

Garufo drew himself up defensively. "I am merely trying to bring to your attention that we cannot devote our time and resources to combing the continent for Dilandau!"

"I know that full well. Perhaps you should have considered that before you tried to drug him." Hidden by his cloak, Folken clenched his hands into fists. Calm. Control. "However, you know as well as I how important Dilandau is to locating the dragon. We should send out the soldiers to search the immediate area; so much has been burned away that it shouldn't take long. If that turns up nothing, the outpost Castelo is not far from here. Asturia is our ally; we could enlist the aid of Sir Allen Schezar and his men at the very least."

That answer didn't please the Sorcerers. "Strategos Folken," Paruchi began, "you know that our capture of the dragon is vital to the Emperor's plans. We must find it as quickly as possible."

"And I tell you that our capture of it will be vastly easier if we find Dilandau again! Folken snapped. Screw self-confidence. "You created him for this purpose, it would be ludicrous to abandon all that time and work!"

"Do you suggest that we drop all our other efforts and dedicate everything to finding that young man?" Paruchi rose up on his toes, shaking his fists. Folken could not help but enjoy the feeling of power that his greater height gave him as he looked down at the shorter Sorcerer.

"That is exactly what I am saying," Folken told him.

Foruma growled. "We should have left him with Adelphos. I knew that Folken would grow too attached to Dilandau. His affection for strays will be his undoing."

"If you had left him with Adelphos, you would probably be short one general right now," Folken told Foruma. "They hate each other almost as much as they hate you four."

"That is not the issue here!" Garufo reminded them. Either he had not picked up on the insult, or he was deftly ignoring it. "We must decide how to go about the search for Dilandau Albatou, if it takes place at all!"

"We?" Folken allowed a mocking tone to filter into his voice. "When did I agree that this would be an issue of 'we'?"

"What?" Garufo sputtered angrily, drawing himself up to his full height. "You have no authority to exclude us from this!"

"Don't I? As Strategos, Emperor Dornkirk has given me plenty enough rank to pull to override _you_."

"You are not the Emperor!" Garufo growled, pointing an accusing finger. Folken smiled.

* * *

Folken flexed his mechanical hand and strode out the door as Foruma and Paruchi tried to revive a Garufo who lay sprawled on the floor, a large lump already forming on the side of his head. Oh, that had felt wonderful. He hoped that Foruma and Paruchi would be able to drag Garufo back to their airship. The Sorcerers were usually reasonable men, but there were also times that Folken just had to use force to get things done. 

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Gatti walking by.

"Lord Folken." The blonde Dragon Slayer saluted him respectfully before he continued.

"Gatti," Folken said. Gatti stopped and turned back around.

"Yes, sir?" Gatti asked.

"I want you to gather the Dragon Slayers and meet me in Dilandau's command room. Will you do that?" Folken asked. "Something very urgent has presented itself."

"Yes sir." Gatti saluted again, spun, and broke into a jog.

Something urgent had come up? Perhaps the dragon had been sighted! Gatti didn't know what that pillar of light had been, but perhaps it had brought the Escaflowne back! Excitement sped Gatti's footsteps. He couldn't believe their luck, to have a chance to redeem themselves to Lord Dilandau so soon! Poor Chesta and Dalet would have to remain behind, their Alseides units couldn't possibly be repaired so quickly, and Dilandau probably wouldn't let them out with two of the extras. Well, it couldn't be helped. If they captured the dragon, it would probably put Lord Dilandau in such a good mood that he would forget about the damaged guymelefs. That was one of the good things about Dilandau; his moods were as wont to change as the wind. He was quick to anger, quick to punish, but he was also quick to forget about what had upset him if a new event came to undo it and please him. Gatti lived, just as all the Dragon Slayers lived, to please his Lord Dilandau. There were many who could not understand those sentiments, could not understand how he could dedicate his life to pleasing one man. But Lord Dilandau inspired them to be as him, the perfect soldier, the perfect fighter. His example inspired them to strive to perfect their own selves, and to be able to live up to Dilandau's high expectations was very encouraging indeed. They tried to please Dilandau, not just because they had to, but because they _wanted_ to.

Gatti slapped the button on the wall that opened the door to the Dragon Slayers' lounge—a common area of sorts for rest and relaxation; being a member of Zaibach's top guymelef squadron did have its perks—and leaned inside. Fourteen weary heads lifted from couches, chairs, and in several cases, the tables and floor. "Hey, everyone, listen up!" he called. The volume of his voice was to catch their attention, not to be heard all the way at the other end of the smallish room. "Folken wants us to meet him in Lord Dilandau's command room."

"When?" Dalet asked, lying on his back on a table with his boots off, prodding at his reddened and soon to be black-and-blue cheek. Gatti rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"When do you think, moron? Now! Get back into uniform, everybody!"

Chesta, dangling his legs over the side of his bunk, shoved an arm through one sleeve of his armor jacket. "Uh, Gatti?" he asked, "you do remember that the door's sensor hasn't been fixed yet?"

"It hasn't? But, I was told-" Gatti yelped and jumped back as the door slid shut again, nearly catching him in it. "For goodness' sakes! I swear, if it doesn't have something to do with killing people, it takes them a year and a half to fix it!"

In the hallway, Gatti folded his arms and waited a moment. Where were they? When no one came out, he opened the door and leaned in again. "Hey! Have you all forgotten the meaning of 'now'?"

"No," the tired voices chorused.

"Good." Gatti jumped back before the door could close on him again. He turned and walked back the way he had come, but not before he could hear the others' metallic footsteps echoing behind him. There were times that he enjoyed his position as Dilandau's second-in-command, but there were other times that he only became frustrated beyond word. Now was somewhere in-between.

The door to Dilandau's command room was in perfect working order. Gatti opened it and strode in, the first Dragon Slayer to arrive. Folken was already present, standing the pale, bluish lights by the lion statue and Dilandau's chair, a chair conspicuously empty. Gatti stopped, puzzled. Why would Folken call the Dragon Slayers together unless Dilandau wanted them? He supposed that Folken was higher-ranking than Dilandau and could technically order the Dragon Slayers if he chose to, but what need would the Strategos possibly have for soldiers?

Sensing Folken's emotionless eyes on him, Gatti straightened. Folken rested his left hand on the back of Dilandau's chair and looked away. Where was Dilandau? Gatti thought back quickly to the day's battle. Dilandau hadn't been injured, had he? No, because only an hour ago, he had tongue-lashed them within an inch of their lives. A sinking feeling told Gatti that Dilandau would not be joining them, that this meeting had something to do with his absence.

The other Dragon Slayers trickled in, their faces assuming the same confused expression as Gatti's. Folken's garnet eyes flicked over them; Gatti could see him mentally counting faces until all fifteen had arrived. The young men milled about nervously, forgetting themselves, until the Strategos cleared his throat; they quickly assumed two neat rows.

Folken stepped forward, standing before Dilandau's empty chair. "Commander Dilandau Albatou is missing," he said simply. Save the rushing of air through the vents, the room had gone deathly silent.

Gatti's heart sank. Lord Dilandau, missing? When? How? He had just been on the Vione a few minutes ago! Gatti had seen him go up the stairs with Folken! What could possibly have happened to him in such a short amount of time?

Folken sighed inwardly. He had anticipated the shock that he saw in their faces. They all looked at him with questioning eyes. How to explain to them what had happened without revealing too much? Nobody below the Sorcerers, save Dilandau himself, had any but the foggiest of ideas of their arcane workings. "You are all aware of the importance of the dragon that you are hunting," Folken began slowly. Fifteen heads nodded in unison. "The dragon casts a shadow over our ideal future. We have reason to believe that Dilandau was caught in the dragon's shadow." The Dragon Slayers frowned. They didn't understand, but he couldn't explain it to them any more than that, not without telling them too much. "Do you recall the pillar of light that spirited the Escaflowne away from today's battle?" They nodded again. "Another pillar has taken Dilandau." The Dragon Slayers gasped and looked at each other. The little blonde- Chesta, was his name? -looked like he might cry. "We believe that he is somewhere in the immediate area, likely injured or unconscious." Folken wished that his words were true. Dilandau could be anywhere on Gaea or beyond by now. Unless he could find a way to twist destiny to intervene for them, searching for Dilandau would be like trying to find a Draconian in these times, and even he and his brother had only half the blood of the dragon-people. He couldn't tell the Dragon Slayers that, though. They loved their commander, and to take away their hope that they might find him would take away their efforts to the search; for some of them, to take away their will to live. To take away their hope could very well be to deliver a death blow to their ideal future.

How very ironic, he thought, that the weight of the Zaibach Empire's future should be placed firmly on the shoulders of sixteen young men- boys, really -by a group of old men too willing to pull strings rather than get their dirty work done themselves. Folken had dedicated himself to this to keep the blood from his gentle little brother's hands, but already the fighting had begun. Hopefully, Zaibach would find Dilandau quickly, and end it all soon.

"We will search for him, won't we, Lord Folken?" Gatti asked in a small voice. Folken nodded once.

"That is why I called you all here. We will begin the search immediately. If Dilandau is somewhere nearby, he shouldn't be hard to find in this rubble. The dragons will have fled from the fires; you don't need to concern yourselves with them. I will deploy the Gray Soldiers to search the ground. You will scan the area from your guymelefs. Unless Dilandau is dead, the infrared sensor on your Crima Claw's targeting system should be able to pick him up."

"Yes sir," the Dragon Slayers mumbled. They were all still dumbfounded. From the beginning, Dilandau had been there. He had hand-picked every boy in the Dragon Slayers and trained them all himself- that act was still legendary in Zaibach, and Folken had heard dozens of tales about it, some closer to the truth than others. The loss of their leader had come as quite a shock to them.

Folken thanked the white dragon god Escaflowne that Dilandau had not trained them to be mindless drones that followed orders exactly but could not think for themselves. Gatti was an adept leader himself, and the rest of the Dragon Slayers respected him; they would still be able to function without Dilandau.

"When should we begin, sir?" Migel asked. That should have been Gatti's question, but Gatti's mind didn't yet seem to have sorted out that he should ask it.

"Immediately," Folken told him. "It is vital that we find Dilandau as soon as possible. He may be injured and require medical attention."

"Yes sir," Gatti answered. Finally the fog in the young Dragon Slayer's head had cleared. He saluted Folken, and then gestured to the others to follow him. They saluted, and the Dragon Slayers filed out the door in silence.

There _was_ a chance that they might find him, Folken reminded himself. Kuaru hadn't seen the pillar of light put Dilandau down, the Sorcerer hadn't stayed in the hangar long enough. It _was_ entirely possible that the Dragon Slayers would find Dilandau down there in the remnants of the Fanelian forests.

He told himself that, but he had difficulty believing his mind, because his heart told him that Dilandau was somewhere very far away, and that he would not grace the Zaibach Empire with his presence again for a very long time, if ever. Back in Fanelia, Folken's thoughts had been so simple. Only after he had joined the Zaibach Empire did he find himself facing these conflicts between his heart and his mind. He did not know if he could consider one more trustworthy than the other. His mind had told him that he could slay the dragon, had he had lost an arm for that folly, but his mind had also created the Stealth Cloaks that now protected Dilandau and the Dragon Slayers. His heart had told him that he had to slay the dragon, for Fanelia, for his country that needed a king, and he had lost an arm for that folly, but his heart had also caused the dragon to leave, sparing him his very life. The man inside of him who was a logical scientist told him that an orderly search would locate Dilandau quickly. The man inside of him who could make destiny dance told him that, if he ever wanted to see Dilandau Albatou again, he would have to turn to a method more abstract than numbers and equations. He didn't know which to believe.

He knew that he had not danced with destiny in a long time, for fear that his dance might interfere with the dance of the machines that he had created to manipulate destiny for the Emperor. Would it come down to that? Would the scientist be able to find Dilandau? Or would he have to take destiny's hand in his and dance once again?

The soldiers and the Sorcerers and even the Emperor didn't understand the dancer. For now, the scientist would have to act.

The walk was short from Dilandau's command room to the bridge, and he made it quickly. He passed along the order to the Gray Soldiers, the aptly named, gray-armored soldiers who always took the brunt of the casualties for the Zaibach Army in a battle, the mindless drones who could follow orders perfectly but could not think for themselves. He watched as the blue guymelefs began to drop from the Vione and speed out across the ashes and the stones and the twisted, stunted corpses of trees that had once been the emerald of Gaea.

Climbing down the steel ladder in the hangar, Gatti glanced down under him before he lowered himself into his Alseides. He had but to move his legs into their familiar controls and the bindings latched around him, and the guymelef closed. He slid his arms into their own familiar controls, grasped the knobs that guided the Crima Claws. Even through his leather gloves he could feel the five familiar buttons that controlled the five individual streams of liquid metal. He closed his eyes for a moment while the Alseides filled with its purple fluid and breathed in the familiar smell that was an Alseides, hot metal and oil. Lord Dilandau hadn't even been gone for an hour, and already he was clinging to the familiar things that made the change bearable. He hoped that they would be able to cope with this change.

The lights on the controls flared to white and green life, signifying that his Alseides was ready. Gatti dropped from the hangar. He gritted his teeth and fought back the urge to gasp as his stomach leapt into his mouth. There were few things as exhilarating as freefall. He kicked in the flight mode, and the guymelef switched smoothly from an uncontrolled plunge to a smooth glide over the rubble. The Crima Claw targeting system slid down over his eye. He touched a button on its side, and his vision washed green as the view switched to infrared. He slowed his guymelef's speed and began to scan the ground anxiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other Dragon Slayers' Alseides units flying in grids just as he, and the first airships bringing the gray-armored soldiers down to the ground. They had to find Dilandau, they just had to!

He peered our across the dark land that had flared to green thanks to Folken's wonderful technology. Everything glowed with the heat that it had borrowed from the sun during the day, that it would relinquish with the now-falling night. Embers of the city that still burned showed as bright spots of light against cold stones. None of the bright spots had the shape of a man. Lord Dilandau had to be here! He just had to! What would they do without him?

Gatti stopped abruptly and switched out of flight mode. Hs guymelef's legs split apart, and he landed with a metallic thud. There! There, on the ground! He saw a man-shaped figure lying there! His heat was dim, but that could be so if Dilandau was injured, the sun had set now! Gatti's heart leapt with joy, and he rushed to the man. He touched the button on his targeting system again, and his sight shifted back into normal vision. Excited, he knelt by the figure.

Gatti's heart sank. No, this was no Dilandau. This man was much older than their commander, and darker. Gatti nudged the man gently with the Alseides's huge hand. The man didn't move. Gatti felt like a giant for a moment, playing with the weak human that he had captured. No, this man was dead. His corpse had not yet cooled.

Gatti stood, jumped up, and switched back to flight mode. The legs of his Alseides snapped together, and he glided across the Fanelian landscape once again. He wondered how many more times he would make that mistake before the bodies had all lost their heat. He wondered which of the Dragon Slayers had killed that man. Had it been the missing Dilandau? Had it been Migel, or Guimel, or Viole? Or had it been himself?

He flicked on his radio to speak with the rest of the Dragon Slayers. "Any of you find anything yet?"

"No." Dalet's voice came through mechanical and artificial-sounding. "Not a damn thing. Just a lot of rubble and dead bodies. Why couldn't Folken have just left the search up to us? All these Gray Soldiers are getting in my way. If I even _do_ find Lord Dilandau, I'll probably just think he's one of them and pass him up!"

"Then look very carefully, my friend, before you pass him up," Viole told him. "You know that the more eyes we have, the better."

Guimel added his quiet voice to the conversation. "What if Lord Dilandau isn't even here?" he asked. "What if the pillar of light took him to wherever it took the Escaflowne? Has anybody thought about that? It's a logical assumption."

Yes, what if? What if what if what if? What if so many things!

"What do we do then, Gatti?" Guimel finished.

What do we do then, Gatti? No, it was supposed to be "What do we do then, Lord Dilandau?" not "What do we do then, Gatti?"

Gatti swallowed hard. "Well, we are here," he answered, "so we begin our search here. I'm sure that Folken knows what he's doing."

"He'd better!" Dalet sniffed.

"You'd better watch yourself, Dalet," Chesta chimed in. "Lord Folken could be listening to us right now."

"Aw, you worry too much, Chesta," Migel laughed. "Even if he is listening, Folken knows that Dalet doesn't mean any offense."

"Yes," Chesta said quietly, "but we do have a lot to worry about right now. We don't need another thing."

Everybody fell silent. Gatti returned to scanning the ground somberly.

_Don't worry, Lord Dilandau, we'll find you. Just hang on._ Folken watched the guymelefs fly over the land in a practiced and calculated search pattern. He watched the gray-armored soldiers fan out, only ants to his eyes from this height. How long should he let them search? Three hours was the standard length of time for an officer of Dilandau's rank, and the Gray Soldiers would return after that. The Dragon Slayers, however, would probably search for their commander until they dropped from exhaustion, if Folken allowed them to. He was not even quite certain that they would return even if he ordered them to. Well, perhaps they would find Dilandau and save him the trouble of the decision.

Folken glanced up and spied the Sorcerers' small airship floating away. Good. At least he wouldn't have to worry about them interfering with the search. Somehow, the airship gave off the impression that it was sulking and ruffled, just like the men inside. He would have laughed had he not faced such a pressing event at the moment. He would save the memory and laugh later. He returned his attention to the search below, to the spots of blue crisscrossing the ground. He wasn't quite certain why he bothered to watch. The soldiers didn't need his guidance to conduct a simple search, and certainly he wouldn't be able to spot Dilandau from such a height. But the dancer in him whispered that his presence might somehow ensure their location of Dilandau. It was the dancer in him that prompted him to stand at his place on the bridge unmoving as the first hour passed, the second. Now the third was almost gone, as the sun was well-gone. And the soldiers had not reported even the slightest sign of Dilandau. Now he could see the Gray Soldiers turning around and coming back, returning to the small airships that would take them back up into the Vione. The Dragon Slayers had either forgotten about the time, or, more likely, had blatantly ignored it, and continued to skim the ground slowly, steadfastly searching for their leader.

Folken reached for the button that would connect him to their guymelefs and paused. Should he call them back? He had guessed right; they would not stop the search if left to their own devices. But would it be crueler of him to let them continue without hope, or to force them to come back? His hand hovered over the button. Should he listen to the dancer, or the scientist?

Folken pressed his palm against the button. "Dragon Slayers, that will be enough for now. Return to the Vione."

Chesta's voice answered him. "Are we giving up, Lord Folken?" he asked.

"No," Folken told him. "We are not giving up. We are planning. Return to the Vione."

Gatti guided his Alseides up into the floating fortress, waited as the mechanical arms reached out, grabbed it and held it. He pulled his arms out of their controls and waited again for the purple fluid to drain out of the cockpit. When it had emptied, the guymelef opened, and he grasped the rungs of the ladder before him and climbed. Around him he could hear the clank of metal and the tap of footsteps as the other Dragon Slayers returned.

Dalet scowled as he climbed up from the last rung of his ladder to the network of bridges that spanned the hangar. "Damn Folken! Why did he call us back? How does he expect us to find Lord Dilandau if we're stuck up here?"

"I don't think he does," Gatti told him. "Let's face it, Dalet. We've been searching for three hours, and we haven't seen a sign of Lord Dilandau. He's not here."

"Don't say that, Gatti!" Chesta pleaded, looking up at the taller young man. "We can't give up! It hasn't even been a day since Lord Dilandau went missing yet!"

Gatti smiled. "I'm not giving up hope, Chess. I just said that Lord Dilandau wasn't here. Maybe Guimel is right, maybe he's with the Escaflowne. Who knows, maybe he's already captured the dragon and he's bringing it back right now."

Chesta looked relieved. "Yeah, you're right, Gatti. I'm sure Lord Dilandau will be all right."

Migel jogged up to the three. "Hey guys, you might want to take a look at this. Folken is doing something really…well, _weird_."

Dalet looked at him. "How'd you get back before all of us?" he demanded. Migel shrugged casually.

"I was searching near the Vione when we were called back. But come on, you've got to see this! I can't figure out what he's doing!" Migel motioned for them to follow him.

Folken sighed. Well, it was done. The Dragon Slayers were returning to the Vione, and he didn't have the slightest idea of where to send them to search next.

He smiled slightly. The scientist's method had failed. It seemed that the dancer's time had come. He returned to Dilandau's command room, stopping only to retrieve a map of Gaea. He needed something of Dilandau's, and that room was suffused with the young albino's aura.

The room seemed so lonely and empty now, Folken thought, as the door slid shut behind him. He had no one to keep him company here but that lion statue that Dilandau hated so much. Folken brushed his organic fingers over the lion's cold, hard mane. Dilandau hated this lion with a passion, but it fit him so well.

Folken sat down stiffly in Dilandau's chair- somehow, sitting here felt so very wrong, as if he were trying to take Dilandau's place. Well, his soul would have to be content with the knowledge that he was not. As he had noted to himself before, he needed something of Dilandau's.

Folken drew a short, golden chain forth from a pocket hidden on the inside of his cloak. He had not yet found a way to create a machine for the Emperor that would do _this_. He touched the red ornament hanging from the right-hand corner of his cloak's collar. Yes, he assured himself, if ever there was a time to put aside the scientist and dance with destiny, now was it. Oh, he had not danced for so long!

Folken pulled the ornament free from his cloak and hung it from one end of the short length of chain. He spread the map of Gaea out on his lap and held the ornament over it. He closed his eyes and formed an image of Dilandau in his head, focused all of his being on the young commander. This had to work. It _had_ to work. He had not danced in years, but he still remembered all the steps.

The ornament began to swing.

The door to Dilandau's command room slid quietly open, and the Dragon Slayers crowded in the doorway. "You see?" Migel whispered, gesturing to Folken. "Look at him! What's he _doing?_"

"I haven't got the faintest idea," Viole answered.

"Is that one of those red things from his cloak that he's holding?"

"Looks like it."

"What if he sees us?" Chesta asked. "Won't he get angry at us for spying on him?"

"Nah," Migel told him. He's concentrating so hard, I don't think he even knows we're here."

Across the map the ornament swung.


	4. Chapter 4: The Way of Things

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, min'na! It's y'all that inspire me to write as well as I can! \^_^ Arigatou gozaimasu!  
Sweet Roses- Yea, a new reviewer! If you're wondering, I'm doing my job. I want everyone to be wondering. At least for now. I'm not too confusing, am I? \^_^   
Wink57CS- Daijobu! If someone's reviewed one chapter but doesn't keep going, I tend to overreact. It's a problem I'm working on.   
Crystal- Shounen ai? I wasn't planning on any, but, who knows? I've never done shounen-ai before, and it tends to freak some people out, so there probably won't be any.   
Shiva Darkwater- *Is about to burst from happiness* Thank you! I'll do my best not to let you down! I'm not sure how long this thing is gonna go, but it looks like it could take awhile.   
DeadlyBeauty1- Erk! I had that same problem with some stories. It finally let me review, after about five tries. Chocolate! The best inspiration food! *Eats cookies*  
Faraday: Wow. O.o Thank you! (Hey, have you read The Wayfarer Redemption trilogy by Sara Douglass?)   
NeverEndingQuest- Thank you! 

  
**

La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 4- The Way of Things

**

  
A chill wind blew through the unknown world as the sun sank and the two figures knelt in the middle of the dead garden. 

"What's a Drifter?" Dilandau asked. 

"What's a Drifter?" Arias laughed pleasantly. "You don't know? Why, you're one. I'm one." 

"But, what is it?" Dilandau pressed, anger seeping into his voice. His hand tightened around the stalk of the dead flower that he had been picking apart, crushing the brittle stem with a weak crunch. 

Arias leaned forward and tapped Dilandau's cheek with a dirty finger. "A Drifter is someone with no control over his destiny. We just drift through our lives without purpose, and end up wherever fate takes us. Now, the ones with the kismet marks on their faces are the Artisans. _They_ can control their fates." 

"Kismet marks?" Dilandau tossed a seed pod at the basket on the ground at Arias's side. Artisans, huh? He should have known that his remark to Folken about art would come back to bite him someday. It certainly had sharp teeth. 

"The purple teardrop on the cheek. It shows us who can control his destiny, and who can't." Arias pushed his hair back behind his ears again. 

"Alter their destinies?" Dilandau sat back on his heels. This was beginning to sound somewhat familiar. Folken had spouted idiocy about destiny like this before. "But, anyone can do _that_, with the proper machinery." 

Arias laughed. "Machinery! That's funny, Dilandau. How can a _machine_ touch fate? No, only a trained Artisan can manipulate destiny." 

"Tell that to the Sorcerers," Dilandau muttered. "And that's why these 'Artisans' force everybody who isn't fortunate enough to have his face marked up to work as a slave all his life?" 

Arias was genuinely shocked and surprised. "_Force?_ If anything, we should thank the Masters for guiding our destinies for us and for taking care of us! If not for them, who knows where I would be now?" 

"How about free?" Dilandau asked. 

Arias looked at Dilandau for a moment, and the albino wondered if his words had hit home. But Arias shook his head. "No, what use would it be to be free if I've got nothing to eat and nowhere to go? We Drifters are destined for nothing without the Artisans to guide our fates. They take care of us." 

Dilandau couldn't believe his ears. This man actually _liked_ his position of servitude? How had he possibly gotten to be so completely brainwashed? 

"Where I come from, we don't have slavery," Dilandau told Arias. 

"Your life must have been terrible before now. You're fortunate that the traders found you. Master Shays is a very caring and merciful master." Arias spoke with more than a little pride in his voice. He stood slowly, picking up the basket of seeds. "It's a shame you didn't come earlier. That's it for today." 

"Oh, I'm so disappointed," Dilandau muttered sarcastically. He stood. "What do we do now? Bow and scrape?" 

"We go inside," Arias told him. Oh, good. Going inside sounded like a normal, everyday activity, normal by even Dilandau's own standards. Arias hooked the basket in his elbow and gestured for Dilandau to follow him. "Come, come. We'll take these in, and then I'll show you where the Drifters live. And we can eat. The food isn't very good," he said apologetically, "but on our own we would probably have nothing at all." 

"I don't care," Dilandau told him. Whatever he was given to eat couldn't be any worse than the toxic waste that the Zaibach Army tried to pass off as food. "Lead the way." Arias nodded and started back to the castle, limping as always. Dilandau wandered along with him, forcing himself to slow his normally brisk pace so that he didn't pass Arias up. The sun had half-set by now, and he air had darkened from gold to orange. 

"How long have you been here? At this place?" Dilandau asked. 

"Oh, all my life." Arias nodded proudly to himself. "The Masters have always been pleased with my work. Even when I hurt my leg and I couldn't work out in the vineyards anymore, they didn't sell me. They let me work here in the gardens, and inside. I've belonged to the Amaryllis family all my life." Arias suddenly looked guilty. "I'm sorry for bragging, Dilandau." 

"I take it that it's some feat, then, not to ever be sold?" Dilandau asked as they passed through the tall gates. 

Dilandau blinked. He _had_ just walked through the gates, but now they were closed and chained! Dilandau looked up at the narrow windows of the castle that glowed orange-yellow with candlelight. Was Shays watching them from up there, or had he done something to the gates so that they automatically closed when the last of the workers had returned? 

"Yes, yes, it's quite unusual," Arias answered him. 

Well, that was good to know. If Dilandau couldn't find a way to escape _this_ particular place, he all he had to do was get himself sold somewhere else that might offer a better chance. 

"The Amaryllis family, you said?" Dilandau asked. Eyes open, mouth shut, he reminded himself. He had to find out more about this place before he could have a real chance of escaping from it. 

"Yes, the Amaryllis family." The large, wooden doors that they came to were shut. Arias tugged on the handle, and the door didn't open. Locked? Dilandau thought that they would try another, but Arias just stood and waited. "The Master Gwinnett and Mistress Anna are generous masters." 

Dilandau frowned. "Gwinnett? What about Shays?" 

Arias pulled on the door's handle again, and it opened easily. He motioned Dilandau in, and let the door fall shut behind him. "Master Shays is their son. The Master Gwinnett and Mistress Anna are only Artisans, but Master Shays is a High Artisan." 

High Artisan? That was a new one. It sounded like some sort of rank or class inside the Artisans to Dilandau, though, and he filed it away in his memory. He would ask Arias about it later. He had more important things to find out now- for example, where the hell he was. 

"Gwinnett and Anna, huh?" 

"Yes." Arias's face darkened. "But stay away from the Mistress Jay if you can." 

Ah. This was interesting. Someone that didn't get Arias's gushing approval. "Who is Jay?" Dilandau asked. The name sounded familiar. Dilandau thought that he'd heard Shays mention a Jay before. Arias touched his arm. 

"Wait here. I'll be right back." Arias disappeared through another wooden door, this one plain. 

Dilandau leaned against the wall, the stones cold against his back. Inside, the building definitely reminded him of the Vione. The black, stone walls and ceiling and floor soaked up all the light instead of throwing it back. The only real difference was that he was surrounded by stone instead of metal, and the torches that burned along the walls gave off a natural, yellow-orange light instead of a pale, white-blue. 

Arias returned, the basket of seeds gone. "Where were we?" he asked. 

"Jay," Dilandau told him. 

"Yes. Mistress Jay." Arias coughed uncomfortably. "She is Master Shays's twin sister." Arias glanced up and down the hallway to make sure that they were alone. "Oh, the gods should strike me down for saying such things, but stay away from her if you can." 

Arias had Dilandau's full attention. "Why?" Dilandau asked. 

Arias dropped his voice. "She's not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean. You never know what she might do. She frightens me, sometimes. Oh, the gods forgive me for what I've said. It's not her fault she's like that. She's a Drifter too, you know, but they don't let her work, she might hurt herself. She can't take care of herself, even as much as we can. That's why Master Shays joined the Violet Order, to try to set her right." Violet Order? What was _that?_ "If you could see her sometimes, though!" Arias looked around again, then leaned in closer to Dilandau. "There's a door in the kitchen that caught fire and burned up a few years ago. Master Shays fixed it back with fate, but ever since then, Mistress Jay won't pay it any mind. She walks right into it, like it isn't even there!" Arias shuddered. "It _scares_ me, Dilandau." 

Dilandau stored that memory away with the "High Artisan" and "Violet Order" things that Arias had mentioned earlier. This Jay sounded like she could make a very effective hostage, if it came to that. 

Arias nodded down the hallway, and they continued. Dilandau marveled at the size of the building. Hallways and rooms branched off in innumerable directions. What could one family possibly want with all this space? The Vione was home to hundreds of soldiers and servants, and he didn't think it was as big as this place. 

Well, Arias seemed trustworthy enough, even if he did have his priorities in the wrong order. Time to ask the big question. "Where are we?" Dilandau asked. 

Arias blinked. "We're in a hallway inside the castle." 

Dilandau rolled his eyes. "Less specific." 

Arias paused, looking momentarily surprised. "Oh, that's right! I keep forgetting that you're not from around here!" he laughed. Dilandau had to check his temper as they crossed from the pools of light to the shadows and back again. 

_Just get on with it! Answer the question!_ He hoped that Arias even knew the answer. The man had probably never been off the Amaryllis family's property. 

"Well, Last Snow- that's the name of the city -is about in the center of New Atlantis- at least, that's what Mistress Anna told me once, and she knows these things -so, I think that would put us right in the middle of Asgard." Arias nodded to himself in satisfaction with his answer. "At least, according to Mistress Anna, and she knows these things." 

Dilandau's vividly-colored eyes widened. "_Asgard?_" he demanded, stopping. "Did you just say that we're in Asgard? The Dark Continent?" 

"Dark Continent?" Arias chuckled. "I don't know where you got _that_ from. Does it look dark to you? Does the sun not set where you're from?" 

"It sets," Dilandau growled impatiently. 

"Oh. Well, yes, I _did_ say Asgard." 

Dilandau leaned against the wall. He felt lightheaded. "That must mean that I'm in the Mystic Valley," he said to himself. "Oh, shit, the Mystic Valley!" 

"Mystic Valley?" Arias asked. "I've never heard of _that_, either, but I like it better than Dark Continent. Are you all right, Dilandau? You look pale." 

"I'm always pale," Dilandau muttered. "I'm an albino." The Mystic Valley! Of all the cursed places, he had to end up in the Mystic Valley! But, he wondered, which was the greater evil, the Draconians, or the Sorcerers? And anyway, he hadn't seen a single Draconian yet. At least, he didn't think he had. They could be tricky bastards, or so he'd heard. Of course, he'd heard that a lot about himself, too. Perhaps he was a Draconian and he didn't know it. He might fit in well among the people who had destroyed Atlantis. He'd destroyed a country, too. 

"Then, you're always pale, but are you all right?" Arias asked again. 

"I'm fine," Dilandau told him none too kindly. "Let's get going." 

"Yes, let's get going." Arias turned and froze. He caught Dilandau by the front of his tunic and shoved him through a door. 

"What?" Dilandau yelped, "What are you doing?" 

"It's Mistress Jay," Arias hissed. "She's coming!" 

"Damn, she really _does_ scare you, doesn't she?" Dilandau asked. 

"Yes! Let's just wait here until she's gone!" Arias wrung his hands nervously. 

"What if she comes in here?" Dilandau asked. From the look of sudden terror on Arias's face, the other slave hadn't considered that as a possibility. 

"Let me get a look at her, at least." Dilandau peered out the door. 

The girl only halfway reminded him of Shays, and he didn't understand why she unnerved Arias so. Her eyes were much larger than Shays's, and wide and innocent, and the same, bright purple. Her hair, that same, dark black, fell in ringlets around her shoulders. Her face was set in a distant expression of childlike bliss. Dilandau couldn't believe that the two were twins. She reminded him so much of a child, not an adult like Shays; even the white dress she wore, with its lace and frills, looked like something that belonged on a little girl. 

"I don't see why she scares you so much," Dilandau told Arias. "I mean, she doesn't look as old as Shays, but she looks like an ordinary, disgustingly cute girl to me." 

"Look closer, then," Arias told him, huddling against the wall, as if that might lessen the chances of Jay entering this hallway. 

Dilandau looked back to Jay. She walked oddly, with her knees always bent, bobbing. She reminded him of a child learning to walk. 

"She walks weird. So what? So do you." 

"No, not that!" Arias hissed. "Look at her again. That door, on the right- that's the door I told you about that burned." 

Dilandau looked back again. Jay stopped and stared at the door, as if deciding whether or not to enter. She walked straight into it, and then cried out and rubbed her forehead where she had hit it on the door. She looked puzzled that she had not gone through it. Footsteps sounded on the stone floor. 

"Jay!" Shays came running down the hallway, looking flustered, gripping the opening of his cloak shut to keep it from flying out behind him. "I told you to stay put, Jay! What are you doing down here in the Drifters' hallways? You know that you're not to go back here! Who knows what one of them might do to you?" He seized Jay's arm and ushered her away ahead of him. 

Arias sighed with relief. "I heard Master Shays. Is she gone?" 

"Yeah, they're gone," Dilandau told him. 

"_Now_ let's go, then." They went back out into the hallway. "Do you see what I mean _now?_" Arias asked him as they began walking. 

"Hardly," Dilandau told him. "After what I've been through in my life, a little girl is hardly enough to frighten me like that." 

He watched Arias limp along. "So, if Shays is supposed to be some high and mighty master of fate, why doesn't he fix your leg?" Dilandau asked. 

"Oh, I'm sure that he has his reasons." Dilandau couldn't detect the slightest bit of spite in Arias's voice. "I don't know how destiny works, but I hear it's particularly hard to change so that a person was never hurt. Even the High Artisans in the Blue Order can only usually will it so that the person doesn't die." 

"Sure. That's a real likely story." Dilandau rolled his eyes. How naïve Arias was! "What happened to you in the first place?" 

"We're here!" Arias announced, pushing open the most worn-looking door that Dilandau had ever seen. Damn, but the man had a way of finding distractions when he didn't want to talk about something. 

The room inside was large, and the torches along its walls seemed to give off more smoke than light. Dilandau coughed and covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. There must have been a hundred people in the room, he thought, a hundred at the least, all dressed ragged like himself. He saw all ages, from infants who couldn't yet walk to old men who might die any day. Beneath the smoke the air smelled like straw, and he realized, when he saw it piled on the floor to one side, that it was what they were to sleep on. The other side held a long, plain table that Dilandau could hardly see for the people crowded around it. 

Arias's face lit up. "Fruit!" he exclaimed, and limped over to the table. He disappeared in the people, and he returned to Dilandau carrying two fist-sized, yellow-red fruits. "The pomegranate harvest must be amazing if the masters are letting us have them this big!" He tossed one to Dilandau, and they settled against the wall, sitting in the straw, to eat. 

Dilandau turned the fruit over in his hands. He'd never eaten a pomegranate before. He watched Arias for a cue. After some trouble, Arias managed to pull it open, and Dilandau did the same. It looked like a star inside, he thought, picking the red-flesh-covered seeds out of the white rind and popping them into his mouth. It tasted tart, but the flavor was pleasant enough. 

Dilandau watched a droplet of juice trickle down his finger. It was exactly the same color of blood. The things one missed out on in the Zaibach Army. 

Arias tossed his hair back out of his face. "Anyway, to answer your question before, I hurt my leg when one of the grape trellises fell on me a few years back. I broke it, and it never healed quite right. I was afraid that the masters would sell me, but they didn't." 

"Hmph." Dilandau squeezed one of the pomegranate seeds between thumb and forefinger, and it burst, spraying his hand with red juice. "If that'd happened in Zaibach, you'd have healed fine." 

"Really?" Arias asked, interested. "You must have wonderful medicine." 

Dilandau remembered the Sorcerers and their needles and frowned. "Some of it better than the rest." 

"You'll be harvesting tomorrow." Arias licked juice from his fingers. He looked like one of the cat-people, doing that. "Be careful. Don't try to climb on the trellises for the high ones, that was my mistake. You can come back for them later." 

"What are we harvesting?" Dilandau asked. At the moment, he couldn't think of anything that grew on trellises besides flowers, and what would they do with flowers?" 

"Grapes," Arias answered. Right. Arias had just mentioned grapes not a minute ago. "Master Shays said that he wanted you working in the vineyards tomorrow." Of course. Why hadn't Dilandau realized that? He needed to be more observant. "He might change his mind, though, he does that sometimes. You look pretty agile. He might have you in the pomegranate trees." 

"I can't wait," Dilandau muttered sarcastically. He'd been muttering a lot since he got here, he realized. Grapes! He was thankful that there would not be anyone from his side of Gaea present tomorrow to see _that._ The famous Dilandau Albatou, picking grapes! 

"Or," Arias continued thoughtfully, "he might even have you pressing them. I got to do it once, before I hurt myself. Oh, it was fun! It was like playing in the mud again when I was little! But, it does take a lot of energy." 

Dilandau tossed his pomegranate rind at a bucket by the wall, not following its trajectory to see if it actually made it in. "You make grape juice here?" he asked, shaking his head. Of all the ridiculous things! He had been enslaved and sold to make grape juice! 

Arias laughed. "Grape juice? No," he told Dilandau, "we make wine!" 

Wine. Now _there_ was an irony. He was probably surrounded by the stuff, and he couldn't drink any of it. 

Dilandau sighed and rested his head back against the wall numbly. How would Zaibach ever find him out here in the Mystic Valley? They would search the immediate area, no doubt, but would they continue the search after that? He knew that Folken had a few unorthodox tricks up his sleeve- no, tricks under that cloak, he corrected wryly -but would they be enough? Even Folken probably wouldn't think of looking for him in the Mystic Valley! Would he ever see his own side of Gaea again? 

Another thought occurred to him. A war had begun on Gaea that day, he was certain that the razing of Fanelia would lead to a war. The Dragon Slayers would be fighting it without a leader. What if he managed to return to Zaibach, only to find that they had been killed in his absence? 

Dilandau immediately pushed that idea away. No, the Dragon Slayers were all highly skilled and well-trained. They would stay alive. 

He felt Arias's hand on his shoulder. "Dilandau?" Arias asked, "are you all right?" 

All right? Of course he wasn't all right! He'd just been reduced from the commander of the Zaibach Empire's Dragon Slayers to a damned grape-picker! 

Dilandau closed his eyes. "I want to go home, Arias," he said softly. 

"You _are_ home," Arias told him. He genuinely meant that, didn't he? Dilandau could hear it in his voice, and Arias had probably intended the words to be comforting, but they didn't help. Dilandau didn't believe in any gods, but if there were a few out there, he hoped that they would strike him dead the day that he called _this_ place _home._

"Why don't I introduce you around?" Arias suggested. Dilandau groaned inwardly. He had to applaud Arias's ability to make the best out of a bad situation, but his constant cheerfulness was going to get him slapped very shortly. 

"No, I don't think so," Dilandau told him irritably. At this point, he just wanted to be left alone. 

"Oh." Arias paused. "At least meet my wife, then." 

Wife? Dilandau opened his eyes. "I didn't think that slaves would be allowed to get married." 

"Well, we're not married in the same way as the Artisans." Arias eased his legs out straight in front of him. "But we've made vows to each other. We just didn't have a real ceremony, or a High Artisan from the White Order to bless us. It's the closest that we can get." He looked up and waved an arm. "She's coming over." 

"Does Shays know anything about this?" Dilandau asked. 

"Oh, I'm sure he does. The masters know everything. But I don't think they mind, or they'd put a stop to it." Arias winked at Dilandau. "And it makes us work harder, so that we won't be sold away from each other." 

He had a point. Dilandau wondered what kind of woman this was, who would bind herself to a crippled slave, knowing that if one of them was to be sold or thrown away, he'd probably be the first to go? Well, probably she had just fallen in love. That particular emotion had a reputation for making people do inane things. Dilandau had vowed many times that he would never fall victim to any of its forms. 

A woman, crudely dressed like the rest of them, her brown hair tied back at her neck, knelt next to Arias, who put an arm around her shoulders. "Dilandau, this is Calantha, my wife." 

"Dilandau Albatou." Dilandau extended a hand to her. She shook it. 

"Albatou. That's a powerful name," Calantha observed, greatly impressed. Dilandau frowned. Hadn't Arias said the same thing? "Is he a new one?" Calantha asked Arias. "I don't think I've ever seen him before. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I'd met someone like that." Arias nodded. 

"Master Shays just bought him today. He'll be working in the vineyards." 

"Oh, really?" Calantha exclaimed. "Then I can show him the ropes!" 

"Good idea!" 

The two continued to talk, seeming to have forgotten Dilandau, which was perfectly fine with him. In the matter of friendships, he had always been a recluse, and Arias's openness and eagerness for conversation didn't particularly appeal to him. Dilandau stole away, finding a blanket and sitting down in the corner of the hay-covered floor, where a good half or more of the others had already laid down and gone to sleep. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. The air had already begun to chill with the night. It was the soldier in him that kept his back to the wall and his senses alert, even though the room had quieted a good deal, and, realistically, he did not have to fear from these people. 

Dilandau closed his eyes. This straw wasn't that much more uncomfortable than his own bed back on the Vione. He should try to sleep, he told himself. He'd probably need that energy the next day. He sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, and hoped that he would dream of his Dragon Slayers. 

Dilandau couldn't sleep that night. He should have supposed. Thanks to the Sorcerers, he had just spent at least half a day asleep. Of course he wouldn't need any tonight. 

He looked around the room. The peacefulness that had at first settled over them was broken by a symphony of loud snoring. It was no wonder that he couldn't sleep! Would it be like this every night? The torches on the walls had gone out, but the air still smelled like oily smoke. Despite the lack of the torches, Dilandau realized that he could still see. He craned his neck to look up at the walls. Just under the high ceiling, a series of narrow windows allowed the moonlight in. 

Dilandau ran a palm over the cold wall. Too smooth to climb, but even if it weren't, someone even as thing as himself could not fit through those windows. If he was to try to escape, he would have to find a different way out. 

What of the doors? Were they locked at night? Or was that a useless gesture, with the high fence that surrounded the building? 

Dilandau stood, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Bad move. He snatched it up again and pulled it tight about himself. It was autumn during the day, but nighttime brought the dead of winter. 

He crept in the direction that he thought might lead him to the door, the straw rustling beneath his feet. He stepped carefully around the other sleeping slaves, past the small children huddled with a parent or each other for comfort in the darkness, past Arias and his wife lying together, sharing a blanket. The last thing he needed was for someone to wake up and wonder what he was up to. Damn, his foot ached where the stones had cut him earlier! Well, at least he wasn't bleeding, anymore. 

Finally, he stepped from the hay to the rough, cold stone. He didn't have to worry about tripping over anyone. Now, where was the door? Dilandau stepped to the wall. Here, it had been here, near the corner, along this right wall. But, he didn't see any door! He ran his hands along the wall. Perhaps, in the lack of light, he had missed it. No, this wall was as solid as the face of a mountain. 

He turned around and scanned the other walls. All of them were blank. There wasn't a single door in the room anymore! 

He should have known. This wasn't so strange, considering the disappearing manacles and the gates opening and closing themselves, earlier. 

He looked up at the narrow windows, and through them the moon and the Mystic Moon, so high and far away, clutching the blanket closed at his neck. "Get me out of here, Folken," he said softly, though there was no one to hear him. 

  


***

  
_Dilandau. Dilandau,_ the voice urged him. Dilandau turned his face away from the light. _Dilandau. Dilandau._

"Dilandau!" 

Dilandau caught Arias by the front of his tunic, threw him to the ground, and pinned him with both hands on his shoulders. Arias's dark eyes widened. 

"Don't hurt me, Dilandau! I wasn't trying to do anything to you, I swear! I was just trying to wake you up!" 

Dilandau sighed and sat back on his heels. "Don't sneak up on me like that." 

"Sorry." Arias sat up, adjusting his tunic. 

Dilandau looked up at the windows. It was still dark outside, but he thought he could see a faint touch of light. 

"What are you doing over here?" Arias asked him. "You've slept through breakfast. Everyone else is already out working." 

"They are?" Damn, and he hadn't thought that he'd be able to sleep at all. Dilandau looked to the wall. The door had returned, and the room was empty, save for himself and Arias. 

"Come on, Dilandau. You can't just sit there all day!" Arias offered Dilandau a hand to help him up. Dilandau didn't take it, but stood on his own. 

"Where did you say I was going?" Dilandau asked him. "The vineyards?" 

Arias nodded. "Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. That's right. Calantha will take you. She's waiting for you in the hallway." 

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Dilandau followed Arias out the door and was not entirely surprised to see it disappear behind them. 

"Dilandau, right?" Calantha shoved a covered tray into his hands. "Wait here a moment." She trotted up the hallway and pushed through a door into the kitchen. Dilandau looked to Arias questioningly as he balanced the tray. 

"What happened to the vineyards?" he asked. 

"Somebody has to take breakfast to Master Shays and Mistress Jay," Arias told him, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I usually help Calantha, but she wanted you today. She says that I walk too slow," he laughed. "I'll see you later, then, Dilandau." Waving over his shoulder, Arias limped away. 

Calantha returned carrying another tray. "Dilandau. That _is_ your name, right?" 

"Yeah," he told her shortly. She nodded. 

"Follow me. We won't be long." 

And again, Dilandau trailed behind as another led the way through the barely-lit hallways that all looked the same, _especially_ now that these dim, narrow staircases were added in. More than once he nearly tripped and dropped the tray, and, for the moment, he was actually thankful for his bare feet. It made it easier to find his footing. He didn't know what kind of food was under the white cloth, but it smelled wonderful. It reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything but a pomegranate for nearly a day. He pushed the thought aside. _You're weak,_ he chided himself. It wouldn't kill him to be hungry for awhile. 

The hallway at the top of the stairs was in better condition than the one they had come from-that is to say, the torches were a bit brighter, and the floor was spotless clean and smooth. Calantha shifted her tray to one arm with the expertise of one who has performed a task many times before and knocked on a door. 

"Enter," came Shays's voice. 

His back to them, Shays pulled his cloak around his shoulders and fastened it as Calantha pushed the door open. Dilandau couldn't believe the difference between this room and the slaves'! A darkly patterned carpet was soft beneath his feet as he stepped inside. Dozens of smokeless-burning candles chased the shadows into the corners. Woven tapestries hung down the walls, covering the black stone. As Shays turned around, Calantha set her tray down upon a table of heavy, dark wood inlaid with a swirling pattern of snowflakes in gold. Dilandau stared. The only time he had ever seen such luxury had been in the royal palace in Asturia! 

Returning to the doorway, Calantha elbowed Dilandau. "Put it down on the table," she hissed. Still comic-struck, Dilandau walked forward. 

And then Jay caught his eye. She sat across from an empty chair that must belong to Shays, rocking side to side, her eyes distant. She sang to herself, only two notes, softly- "La, ra, la, ra, la, ra, la, ra..." Trying to avoid looking at the girl, Dilandau set the tray down. 

"That's enough, Jay," Shays told her. She continued to sway. 

"La, ra, la, ra, la, ra..."

"Jay!" Shays barked. Jay jerked, looking guilty. Shays sat down across from her. 

Jay fixed Dilandau in her violet gaze. "Who's she?" she asked, forming the words slowly, like a child learning to speak. Shays lifted the cloth from one of the trays. 

"That's Calantha. You see her every day," he answered distractedly. 

"No. Her." Jay pointed at Dilandau, who was immediately offended but kept his temper in check. He was no woman! 

Shays looked up, twisted around to view Dilandau. "That's the new slave," he told Jay. "That's a man, not a woman. What's your name, slave?" 

"Dilandau," Dilandau answered. Forget the surname; Shays wouldn't care about it, and he was sick of everyone telling him what a powerful name Albatou was. 

"Dilandau." Shays mused over the name, as though it sounded familiar to him. "Dilandau. Dilandau." He looked up. "That is Dilandau, Jay. He is a man." 

Jay edged closer to the wall, eyeing Dilandau warily. "Don't like her." 

"_Him,_" Shays corrected. 

"Smells like blood," Jay continued nervously. "Don't like her." 

Shays looked to Dilandau. "You _do_ have a pretty face," he said, a touch of amusement in his voice but not in his expression. "You even have my sister confused." Dilandau's frown deepened further. 

Jay reached out and tugged at Shays's cloak. "Make her go away," she whispered. Shays waved a hand in Dilandau's direction, turning back to his twin. 

"You two are dismissed. Get to work." 

Dilandau glanced back over his shoulder as Calantha pulled him out the door. 


	5. Chapter 5: Castle in the Forest

tenshiamanda: *twiddles thumbs* No comment. \^_^ E-mail me if you want to know if you're on the right track. I'm trying not to give too much away in the author's notes.  
Johnny-Depp-luv: Thank you!  
Kou-Kagerou: Yea! Thank you! 'Cause I usually have typos galore, no matter how many times I edit.  
Koriina: Thank you! Erm, coupling? No...I hadn't really thought about that...See the author's note below.  
NeverEndingQuest: Yea! Jay is interesting! I'm trying to be careful with my original characters, so I'm glad you like her so far.  
Faraday: Thank you! Hai, Wayfarer Redemption was good. Faraday was one of the few characters I liked. Her and Freefall. Couldn't stand Axis or Azhure.  
Marumae: Thank you! (Gee, I'm saying that a lot today. *Shrugs*) Foreshadowing? *Twiddles thumbs again* Like I told tenshiamanda, if you want to know if you're on the right track e-mail me.  
Feye Morgan: Trippy? Hee hee! I guess that describes it pretty well! How observant you are. That must mean I'm doing my job right. As for what Jay was singing, no, it's not the tune of Folken's song. (Ryuu no Hanayoume.) It's not really ANY tune. She's just sort of singing to herself. I had a little trouble trying to communicate how I pictured her doing it in my head. (Find a piano and pick two keys relatively close to each other. Assign one to "la" and the other to "ra" and alternate between them over and over again. Something like that.)  
DeadlyBeauty1: *Squeaks* DILLY PLUSHIE!!! *Huggles plushie*  
oso-oso: Arigatou!

A/N: Okay, we're going to do this democratically. Everyone who thinks there should be a coupling, raise your hand. If you think it should be a shounen-ai coupling, raise both hands. If it should be a Dilandau x Somebody Female coupling, raise both hands and both feet. If it should be something I haven't mentioned... tell me your suggestion. \^_^

  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 5- Castle in the Forest**

  
Folken stayed in that room, in that chair, until the sun began to rise the next morning. He was well aware of the Dragon Slayers watching him from the door, but at the moment, he couldn't spare the concentration it would take to notice them, or to explain what, exactly, he was doing. He was the Strategos of Zaibach, he didn't need to explain anything, right? And this would take a great deal of explaining, should they confront him. But they didn't stay long, in any case; they grew weary, and bored, and they left. 

Hours passed, and he did not find Dilandau. Folken began to seriously wonder if the Dragon Slayers' commander was even alive. No, he told himself, if Dilandau were dead, he could still locate the body. His heart whispered that Dilandau lived yet. That Folken could not find Dilandau must have something to do with the dragon's shadow, he decided. Early in the morning, he came to that conclusion, and he altered his search. 

Where should they go next? If they could not locate Dilandau directly, where could they go to search that would bring them closer to him? Folken concentrated on that question next, focused his entire being upon it. Where next? 

Folken was faintly aware of the door opening, and Gatti entering. He ignored the Dragon Slayer. Gatti didn't say anything, but stood there and looked at him. Did he want something? Or was he just waiting? 

The ornament swung across the map. 

There. 

Folken opened his eyes. The ornament had pointed to a spot on the border of Asturia, very close to Fanelia. He looked up. "We will go to the Castelo outpost," he told Gatti. "We will continue the search there." 

"Castelo?" Gatti asked. "That's in Asturia, isn't it, Lord Folken?" 

"Yes, just by its border with Fanelia," Folken told him. "We can enlist the aid of its occupants to further our search for Dilandau." 

"Yes sir." Gatti saluted him and departed to relay the order to the Vione's pilots. 

When the door had shut behind Gatti, Folken slumped back from mental exhaustion and sighed. Gods! Was this just the beginning of a wild search across Gaea? He didn't even know if they would find Dilandau at Castelo, just that it was their best course of action to take next! 

Of course, he would have to report all this to the emperor. Had it really been not even half a day since Dilandau had vanished? It felt like so much longer. Folken looked to the ornament in his hand. So many things...they had not happened so long ago, but they seemed like a millennia in his past. Folken dropped the short chain back into its hidden pocket and fixed the ornament back on the corner of his cloak. He would have to report all this to the emperor. 

Folken stood, and considered his appearance. He had been awake and active for more than twenty-four hours straight, and had been sitting in the same position for several of those hours without moving. He wondered if he should not take the time to at least shower before contacting Dornkirk. He quickly dismissed the thought. Despite his own preference for order, this news of Dilandau's disappearance was extremely important and should be brought to the emperor's attention as soon as possible; and besides, Dornkirk's standard of decency and a presentable appearance was simply "clothed." Folken smoothed a few of the wrinkles from his cloak and stretched. My, but that was trying, sitting so stiffly in that chair for so long. It was no wonder that Dilandau lounged around all the time. 

The light of the pale, blue-white lamps glinted from his mechanical hand. Folken lowered his arm and pulled his cloak over the metal appendage. The emperor. Yes, he needed to get to the emperor immediately. 

Folken made his way quickly to his communications room. This, he thought, was probably one of the few rooms on the Vione that Dilandau had never seen. It was no accident that Folken had failed to mention it to him. The transmitter on the round screen was powerful enough to send a signal from one side of the continent to the other. It wasn't that Folken was worried about Dilandau bothering the emperor; in order to reach Dornkirk, there were three controls that had to be pressed in a specific order, and, as they were located in the _center_ of the room, not on the control panel, Dilandau probably would not have the patience to figure them out. _However,_ that safeguard was not only to ensure the _Emperor's_ privacy. When the less powerful communicators were in range, Dilandau never missed a chance to irritate General Adelphos. Giving Dilandau the means to pester Adelphos at any hour of the day could very well drive the man insane. It _was_ an amusing mental image, though. 

Folken sighed. "Where are you, Dilandau?" he mumbled to himself, pressing the first cylinder down into its pedestal. "I'm doing everything that I can to find you. Maybe at Castelo. We might find you at Castelo." He pressed the second cylinder down. "Help me out, if you can. And above all, _stay alive._" He hoped that it wasn't already too late for that. He pressed the third cylinder down, and the round screen sprang to glowing life with the wrinkled, bearded face of Dornkirk, the Emperor of Zaibach. The only light in the room came from that screen, drawing all eyes toward it. Folken stood in the triangle that the three pedestals created and looked up at that visage. He did not drop to his knees, as Dilandau or even one of the Generals might have done. He felt no rush of awe or fear. Folken knew Dornkirk too personally for any of that, probably more personally than anyone else on Gaea. Dornkirk had taken Folken under his wing, so to speak, and Folken had worked very closely with the emperor in creating Zaibach's destiny machines. 

Folken inclined his head. Just because he was not overcome with the urge to whimper and cower and grovel did not mean that he did not have a great deal of respect for this man. It was Dornkirk who had saved his life, Dornkirk who had allowed him to find his people, Dornkirk who had given him the means to become the man who stood here now. The difference between Folken and the rest of Zaibach was that he saw Dornkirk for what he was- a man, not a god. Folken felt no awe, but he held the Emperor in high regard, and he was certain that Dornkirk felt a mutual respect for him, as well. 

"Folken." Emperor Dornkirk's low voice resounded forth from the speakers, with its accent that Folken could never place to any of the countries on Gaea. "Has your mission been successful? Have you captured the dragon?" 

Folken hated bringing ill news to his emperor, and he knew that this would disappoint him. "I am afraid not, Emperor," he began, looking up at the screen. "Just before the Dragon Slayers were able to apprehend it, the pillar of light spirited the Escaflowne away. I predict that the event must have been due to a fluctuation in destiny that the Sorcerers were not able to compensate for quickly enough." 

"That is a logical assumption," Dornkirk drawled, speaking the words slowly but clearly, as he always did. 

Folken paused. "There is more, Emperor." 

"Speak, Folken," Dornkirk encouraged him. 

"I had thought the pillar of light a fluke, but it happened once again. The second time it took Dilandau. We have conducted the proper search, and I have also tried-" and Folken had to pause a moment to decide upon the proper wording "-the old methods, but as of yet I have failed to turn up a shred of evidence as to where he might be." 

"Do you know where the dragon was taken?" Dornkirk asked, in his slow way. Folken shook his head. 

"No, my emperor." 

"This is a grave problem, indeed." The Emperor was silent for a time, musing over the problem. Folken waited patiently, used to this, though he often found himself wondering in these situations if the old man had fallen asleep with his eyes open. He quickly clamped down on the disrespectful thoughts. 

"I have checked the tracker that I put on Dilandau," Folken ventured. "The readings that it is sending back tell me that he is dead, but my feelings tell me otherwise. I am not certain that we should abandon our hope of finding him." Folken searched again for the right words. "Wherever he is...I believe that he is supposed to be there." 

"He is supposed to be there?" Dornkirk repeated. 

"Yes, Emperor," Folken answered. "I do recall a time once before when a pillar of light was created without the prompting of machinery or man. That was also meant to be." 

"It was," Dornkirk agreed. 

"What would you have me do, Emperor?" Folken asked. "Or, perhaps I should say, which is more important to our ideal future? Dilandau, or the dragon?" 

Dornkirk half-lidded his eyes, considering the question. "The dragon is vital to our ideal future," he began. "However, a great deal of time and research was put into creating Dilandau." 

Folken was surprised to find himself a bit anxious. Which would it be? Dilandau, or the Escaflowne? Both were important to Zaibach's future. The dragon was everything, but Dilandau was the means _to_ the dragon. Could they find the dragon without Dilandau? Could they afford to abandon Dilandau for the dragon? Folken was thankful that this was a choice he did not have to make. 

"Search for the boy, Folken," Dornkirk told him finally. "But keep your eyes open for the dragon." 

Folken went weak with relief, and he covered the emotion by bowing his head. "As you wish, Emperor. I will keep you informed of our progress." 

The room went dark as the screen turned off, and the machine crackled with leftover static electricity. Folken straightened. Dilandau. Emperor Dornkirk had chosen Dilandau, if only for the reason that to abandon the young man would be a waste of a very intricate and painstaking experiment. Folken did not know what sort of work the Sorcerers had put into Dilandau, nor did he care at the moment, for while Dilandau may be _their_ little white lab rat, he was _Folken's_ companion. 

He had nothing to do now but wait until they arrived at Castelo outpost. Gatti should have relayed the order to the bridge by now, and the Vione should already be on its way to Asturia. In the meantime, he needed to get some sleep- even though he only needed three or four hours a night -before he consulted with this knight whose name Folken had heard spoken with respect upon more than one occasion, the famous Sir Allen Schezar. 

  


***

  
And at that same time, at Castelo, the famous knight Sir Allen Schezar regarded the two children that he had found in the forest with curiosity concealed behind a kind smile. No, they weren't quite children, he decided, but they were yet somewhere between childhood and full adulthood. Judging by the sword that Allen held in his hand, the boy had been forced into the role of an adult earlier than, by all rights, he should have been, though by Asturia's legal standards the boy _would_ be considered an adult. He couldn't recall Fanelia's laws in that area. In the early morning, the girl and the boy had finally woken. If the boy felt any pain from the blow that Allen had given him the previous night- and surely he did, for the force of it had knocked him out cold -he was stubbornly hiding it. 

Allen supposed he should stop thinking of the dark-haired young man as "the boy," not after he had taken a good look at the sword he had taken from that boy. Allen knew the royal crest of Fanelia. While it would seem that during the chaos of the destruction of Fanelia, a skilled thief could have made off with such a sword, this was the royal sword of the King of Fanelia, one that hardly left the king's side. The chances of this sword being stolen from Fanelia herself were so unlikely that they were not even worth considering. 

And then, of course, there was the matter of the magnificent, white, Ispano guymelef that his men had found in the forest not far from the young man. It obviously belonged to him, and it also clearly belonged to Fanelia. Allen had heard stories of this guymelef. No one not of Fanelian royal blood could even open it. This boy could not be anything less than the King of Fanelia. 

Allen's owl, Natal, fluttered down from the sky to rest on his perch, and blinked into the rising sun. Allen gestured with his free hand to the plain, wooden table and chairs arranged out on this small balcony. "Would you care to sit?" Allen asked the two. 

"Yes, thank you." The girl took one of the chairs politely and looked up at the boy. 

"I'll stand," the boy told Allen shortly, brown eyes locked on the sword in Allen's hand. Allen shrugged nonchalantly and took the other chair, setting the sword on the table with a metallic clank. By sitting he lost some of the power that looking down at the shorter boy would give him, but he didn't want the boy- the king -to feel intimidated. 

The sun had fully risen over the treetops, and the world had begun to wake. The morning's first birds sang to them from the forest, and both the men of the outpost and the animals of the land rose from their slumbers to begin the day's tasks. Allen had always enjoyed the early hours of the day best. It was the time that one could feel peaceful and tranquil and yet vibrantly alive at the same time. 

"Let me first say," Allen began carefully, "that I would like to apologize for our encounter last night in the forest. I am stationed here to protect my country, and I did not realize who you are...Your Majesty." The boy flinched at the title. Why did it draw that sort of a reaction from him? Was he not happy to be the king of his country? 

"How did you know?" the boy asked Allen. Allen lifted the sword and drew it part-way to reveal the royal crest of Fanelia. 

"Only the King of Fanelia would have this sword," Allen replied. The boy looked away from Allen. 

"I abandoned my country," he mumbled. "I don't deserve to be called by that title. Just call me Van." 

"Don't say that, Van!" the girl argued. "It's not like you left on _purpose!_ It was that strange light!" 

Ah, yes, the girl. Allen had forgotten about her for the moment. She was certainly an odd one. She had the strangest clothes he had ever seen, and short hair like a man. And she had acted like she had known him last night. What was the name she had called him by? 'Amano'? Something like that. She was far less familiar and comfortable around him today. Allen turned to her. "And what is your name, Miss?" he questioned. The girl started, looking startled that he had addressed her. 

"It's Hitomi," she told him, looking down shyly at her hands in her lap. "Hitomi Kanzaki." 

"Hitomi," Allen repeated. What a strange name! He decided that he liked it, though. It had an exotic sound to it. "I've never heard a name like that before. Where are you from?" 

Hitomi cast a glance up at Van, prompting Allen to wonder again. Why did she need his permission to talk about herself? Was she his servant? 

"Go on, tell him," Van said, folding his arms. "Why should I care?" 

"Well, _I_ don't know!" Hitomi retorted. She looked back to Allen. "I'm from the Mystic Moon," she told him. 

Allen continued to smile. Surely he had not heard her correctly. "Pardon?" 

"I'm from the Mystic Moon," Hitomi repeated. "The blue moon in the sky." 

It took all of Allen's willpower not to let his jaw drop and to stare at her. "The Mystic Moon?" he asked, wanting to be absolutely certain that he had not heard the wrong words. Hitomi nodded. 

"The Mystic Moon." 

Allen continued to smile. _Oh, dear._ This was one of the moon's inhabitants? She didn't _seem_ like a demon to him. Was she even human? Would his country be safe with a creature from the Mystic Moon running loose in it? He would have to keep a close eye on this woman until he knew whether she really was evil or not. By Jichia! The next thing he knew, the Dragon-people would start flying down from the sky! 

"Mr. Allen?" Hitomi asked. 

"He's taking it well," Van said to himself. "He hasn't tried to kill you yet, he must be more open-minded than I thought." 

Allen folded his hands and rested his elbows on the table. "That's very interesting, Hitomi," he told her. "How did you come to be here on Gaea?" 

Hitomi bit her lip nervously. "Well, there was a strange pillar of light..." she trailed off uncertainly, watching him to see if he actually believed her wild story or not; in truth, he was still making up his mind. 

"Hey, Allen!" Van interrupted, taking Hitomi's hesitation in stride, "where is my guymelef? What did you do with the Escaflowne?" 

"Escaflowne?" Allen leaned back in his chair, thankful for the distraction and a more normal question to answer. "Would that be the name of the white, Ispano guymelef my men found in the woods?" 

"That's it," Van told him. "Where is it?" 

"Don't worry. We brought it back to Castelo," Allen assured him. "It's with our own guymelefs." 

"You'd better not have damaged it," Van muttered. 

"I give you my word as a knight that it was treated with the utmost of care." 

"Oh yeah? Well, I guess we'll see if your word is worth anything, won't we?" Van snatched up his sword from the table and hooked it back onto his belt. "Come on, Hitomi, we're leaving." 

"Right." The girl stood. 

"And where will you go?" Allen asked, a bit amused. The young king probably had only a vague idea of where he was at the moment, and he fully meant to go traipsing off into the woods without so much as a map? 

"Back to my country," Van answered. "Something was attacking us when we left. I have to get back and help my people!" 

Pity filled Allen's heart. Of course Van would not have known yet. "What will you go back to?" he asked. "You're too late to help them. Fanelia was completely destroyed." 

Hitomi gasped and sat back down in shock. A look of horror and utter shock crossed Van's face. "Fanelia! No!" He shook his head, brow furrowing. "You're lying! You must be!" he accused. 

"I'm afraid I'm not," Allen answered. "Several of my country's merchants saw it happen. We received word just this morning." 

"Fanelia..." Van looked away from him in shame. 

"I am very sorry," Allen continued. "You have my country's sympathies- as much as I can give, at least." Gods, he sounded uncaring, didn't he? The truth was that he could hardly imagine the thought of losing his own country, the Asturia that he loved so greatly. 

"Sympathies? Sympathies won't help my country. What happened to the people?" Van asked, forlorn. "Were they all killed?" 

Allen was thankful to be able to tell Van otherwise. "They fled to the forests, and most escaped. When they reach Asturia they will be welcomed and sheltered." 

"Well, that's good," Van mumbled, his attention focused inward. Allen imagined that the young king's thoughts were the same as his own- what army had the capacity to destroy an entire country, even one as small as Fanelia, in one night? He opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, Van had seen, but Van turned and started down the stairs, lost in his own musings. 

Allen looked to Hitomi instead. "Did you see the army that attacked Fanelia?" he asked. Hitomi shook her head, paused, then nodded. Allen smiled. The girl was amusing. 

"It wasn't an army," Hitomi started. "There were only a handful of them, at least that I saw. They were invisible." 

"_Invisible?_" The tale was outlandish, but if this girl really was from the Mystic Moon, he was prepared to believe anything she told him. 

Hitomi nodded. "They were invisible, but I could see them in my mind. They were blue giants." 

"Blue giants?" 

"Yeah, as big as the Escaflowne. And they had swords." 

"Swords." Allen leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand, thinking. "What you've just described sounds like guymelefs. But what country has the technology to make its guymelefs invisible?" 

"_I_ don't know," Hitomi answered. "I don't even know what country I'm in now!" 

Allen laughed in spite of himself. She may be a demon, but this girl's innocence was a refreshing change from the "dirtbags," as Gaddes termed them, that he usually spent his time around. "You are in the country of Asturia, Hitomi, the Sapphire of Gaea if Fanelia was an emerald." 

"Asturia," Hitomi repeated. "It's pretty here. I like it. I sure hope that the invisible giants don't come here next." She looked guiltily away from him. "I've got a feeling that they were after _us_. I'm going to go find Van." She hopped up out of her chair, bowed to him, and descended the stairs. 

Allen lifted his arm, and Natal fluttered from his perch to grip Allen's forearm in his talons. Allen smoothed the owl's feathers absently, thinking. 

  


***

  
The gray-armored soldier, standing at his panel of controls, looked back over his shoulder. "Lord Folken, we're approaching the outpost Castelo," he announced. 

"Good." Folken pressed a button on his own controls. "Gatti." 

Gatti's voice crackled over the radio. "Yes, Lord Folken?" 

"Gather the Dragon Slayers in the hangar. We are nearing Castelo." 

"Yes sir." 

Folken shifted his gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up a good part of the walls of the bridge. He could see the clearing ahead in the trees, and inside it a wooden structure of recognizably Asturian architecture. Behind it a waterfall poured over the sheer cliff's edge; from his memory of an atlas of Gaea, that river would eventually wander its way to Palas, Asturia's capital. He looked, but he did not see any signs of a red Alseides-or, he thought with slight amusement, any signs of anything having been set on fire. He hoped that he would descend to find Dilandau drinking wine with this Sir Allen Schezar, but he knew that there was no promise that Dilandau would even be here, or that the knights would know anything of Dilandau's whereabouts. 

As they neared the outpost Folken could make out the figures of men, still tiny from this distance, scurrying about the complex. No doubt the Vione had taken them by complete surprise; if Asturia had the communications technology, Folken would have contacted the outpost prior to their arrival, but at this point in time the Asturians were limited to letters delivered by horse, which would have been useless as the Vione was faster than the horses this country used to deliver mail. 

The Vione stopped to hover above the outpost. Folken started momentarily as a white owl shot past the windows of the Vione. He followed the bird as it winged down to perch on the shoulder of a blonde-haired man who stood on the roof, gazing calmly up at the floating fortress. _This_ must be Sir Allen Schezar, Folken decided. He looked forward to meeting this man. He almost imagined that those sharp, blue eyes had actually met his own, though Sir Allen could not possibly see him from down there. The man nodded once, turned, and descended into the building, and Folken wondered again. _Had_ Allen seen them? 

Gatti's voice crackled with static. "Should we launch, Lord Folken?" 

Folken looked down at the panel. "No," he answered. "Not yet. We've surprised them. This is a meeting among allies, not an attack. Give them time to collect themselves." 

"Yes sir." 

  
"Allen!" Allen found Hitomi waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. "Allen, what's that thing up in the sky?" 

"It's a Zaibach floating fortress," he told her, transferring Natal from his shoulder to one of the perches scattered throughout Castelo. Gaddes had remarked to him many times that it would be easier to keep the bird in a cage, but Allen had always enjoyed letting Natal fly free. It would be wrong to shut him up, for he always came back. 

"Zaibach Floating Fortress?" Hitomi repeated back, her face turning worried. "I don't like the way that sounds." 

"We shouldn't have anything to worry about. Zaibach is Asturia's ally. Still-" Allen glanced out the window at the Vione, which had yet to disgorge any airships or guymelefs "-I think it would be best if you and Van stay out of sight until I find out what they want." By her face, the idea didn't much appeal to Hitomi, but she nodded and jogged off to the room he had assigned her to. Allen could hear running footsteps and shouting voices in the floors beneath him as his men rushed about to prepare for the coming of the Zaibach soldiers. As he looked out the window again, he could not help but wonder if the arrival of the floating fortress had anything to do with the white guymelef Escaflowne, or the young king who no longer had a country, or the strange girl from the Mystic Moon. 

  
"All right, Gatti." Folken's voice sounded finally from the speaker. "The Dragon Slayers may launch. I will meet you at the ground." 

"Yes, Lord Folken." Gatti released the button on the wall and turned. "All right, everybody! We're going! Remember, Asturia is an ally country! We're not trying to intimidate, so don't damage anything!" 

"Right!" the voices answered back. Gatti descended the ladder to his guymelef. 

The Alseides units dropped from the hangar like vividly blue rain. Gatti could see Folken, a spot of black against the dusty ground, already waiting for them. How had he gotten down from the Vione so quickly? Well, Folken had always seemed a bit...unique, Gatti decided, and he wasn't certain that he wanted to know how the man had traveled to the ground without airship or guymelef. The inhabitants of the Vione had a number of rumors circulating about Folken, from the more normal ones-like the one that there had been a cockroach-person somewhere far back in his family history and so he never had to sleep-to the completely weird and unbelievable-like the one that he was a prince, or that he was not part cockroach-person, but part dragon-person. Gatti scoffed at all of them. Folken, a prince! And if he had wings, wouldn't someone have noticed them by now? 

The guymelefs landed in two neat and practiced lines to either side of Folken, raising up small clouds of dust. Dilandau had run them through that particular maneuver more times than Gatti could remember, actually bringing down a long string with him and measuring the straightness of their lines. Accuracy and precision, he told them, unnerve the enemy. He would have been proud of their lines right now, had he been able to see them. 

The fourteen Alseides units opened; the Dragon Slayers jumped to the ground and flanked Folken in two lines just as straight as the ones they had left their guymelefs in. Gatti took a moment to fiddle with his Zaibach banner, straightening the flag on the pole he had brought down with him in a Crima Claw. He suppressed a laugh as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Chesta wrestling with his own banner-a strong gust of wind had just nearly blown the smallest Dragon Slayer away, and only a quick grab around the waist by Dalet had kept Chesta from reeling into Folken. But finally the flags were straight, and two of the soldiers of Castelo pushed open the doors into the building. 

Folken took in his surroundings as he passed through the doorway, the Dragon Slayers trailing on either side of him. This hall was probably the largest in the outpost, and not terribly large at that. The rows of soldiers crowded along the walls made the room hot and stuffy, and light from the windows high by the ceiling heated the air further. And the heat didn't do anything to improve the smell. Folken wondered what kind of a commander this Allen Schezar was, and he wondered if any of the crude-looking men around him had bathed within the year. They were a far cry from Zaibach's polished, uniform soldiers. 

The man Folken had seen standing on the roof met them at the head of the room, resplendent in full Knight Caeli uniform, the owl perched on his shoulder. Folken had deduced correctly, this _was_ the legendary knight Sir Allen Schezar. He certainly looked the part of one of Asturia's highest guardians, with his golden hair almost shining in the sunlight, and his intelligent eyes that somehow made every man in the room feel that Allen Schezar was looking at _him._ The gold-on-blue and the twined sea dragons of Asturia's flag rose patriotically behind him. If ever Folken had seen a man he would hold up as a symbol for the country's military, this Sir Allen Schezar was it. Why had King Aston secluded him away in this tiny, backwater location? The king had always spoken highly of this knight's martial abilities, his chivalry, his loyalty to his country. 

Allen bowed from the waist as was proper, raising a hand to his heart in a simple gesture that he somehow managed to make incredibly graceful. "I welcome you, Zaibach, to the outpost Castelo." He straightened. "I am Sir Allen Schezar, a Knight Caeli of Asturia." 

Folken nodded. "I am-"

He cut off as two figures shoved their way from the back of the rows of men. The first, a strangely clothed young woman, he did not recognize, but the second... 

_Van!_

It took all of Folken's diplomatic training to keep his eyes from widening in surprise; even Allen let a look of irritation flash across his face. He must have meant to keep Van and he woman hidden from Zaibach. Folken couldn't believe how Van had grown from the last time he had laid eyes upon his little brother. Now Van stood twice as tall as he had before, and he wore the royal sword of Fanelia like and experienced swordsman. 

Folken realized next that he could find no trace of recognition in Van's eyes. _Van...my own brother...he doesn't even know who I am!_

"Please continue," Allen spoke up. 

If Van was here, then so was the Escaflowne. The dragon was close by, and that gave Folken renewed hope of finding Dilandau. And perhaps, during the search of the land around the outpost, he would find a chance to speak to his brother alone. How he had missed Van! 

What would Van's reaction be when he found that his own brother was the man who had destroyed Fanelia? 

Folken suddenly declined to give his name. "I am the Strategos of Zaibach," he told Allen, knowing how awkward the phrase sounded, "and we of the Vione Fortress come to enlist your aid in the search for one of our own." 

  
A/N: Nng! I've never written with Allen and Hitomi and Van in a serious light before! It's causing me to utter strange things like "nng" and "erm" and wonder if they're turning out completely two-dimensional! 


	6. Chapter 6: Kyrie Eleison, Part I

Spinereader- Thank you! I'm trying to make it feel like the TV series, but I'm never sure if it's working. As for the couples thing…the problem with me is that I tend to shy away from writing romance, mostly because I'm afraid it'll turn out corny and stupid, so even if I see that my story needs some coupling, I won't put it in. So, every once in awhile, I need some gentle prodding from my readers, and maybe a good thwack with a harison. Asking for couple ideas forces me to face the fact that the story might need some romance. I may not take the suggestions, they just give me a starting point. Lessee, what else? No, not a pest at all! I need all the flavors of feedback in order to improve! I've started replying to reviewers in the story because I'm EXTREMELY absentminded, and if I e-mail everyone individually I'll forget who I've contacted and who I haven't. (Really, I'm lucky if I remember to eat breakfast.) Plus, there's the people who don't have e-mail at all…so this helps me stay on track. I don't consider it a pain to add this stuff into finished chapters, 'cause FF.net counts my HTML code as words, so their word count isn't reliable anyway.  
Pan- Thank you!  
NeverEndingQuest- Hmm…Dilandau x Hitomi…I can't say I've actually read one of those before. That could work out well…we'll see…  
me- We'll see what happens. Thank you for your suggestion!  
Feye Morgan- For the most part, yeah, it'll switch back and forth between the main continent and the Mystic Valley…Kyrie Eleison is an exception chapter. Yes, Dornkirk chose Dilandau. They've spent too much money and time on him to let him get away so easily. Ano…Yuzuriha…can't say I've ever seen X/1999. Is Hitomi turning out badly?

A/N: Part I? Yes, I don't usually do chapters in parts, but after I wrote this one out I realized that it was too long for one chapter, so I had to split it in two. So, if it seems a little incomplete, that's why. Oh yes, and "Kyrie, eleison" is Latin for "Lord, have mercy."

  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 6- Kyrie Eleison, Part I**

  
_I smell like blood?_ Dilandau wondered, following Calantha out of the castle. _Why would I smell like blood?_ A few days in this place, and he would probably smell like _something,_ but blood probably wouldn't be it. Unless Jay was part shark-person, and she could smell the cuts on his feet from stepping on the sharp rocks yesterday. "Do I really smell like blood?" he asked. Calantha looked back over her shoulder, clearly confused.

"No. Why would you wonder something like that?"

"Because of that damn weird woman." Dilandau stared at the palms of his hands. Figuratively, of course, they were soaked red in the blood of the hundreds of fighters he had killed in his relatively short lifetime, but there wasn't literally _blood_ on him. He found the notion that he smelled like blood rather disturbing, somehow.

"Don't pay attention to anything the Mistress Jay tells you," Calantha advised. "She doesn't really know what she's saying."

Yes. Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it? The girl walked into _doors,_ for heaven's sake, she wouldn't know what he smelled like! She had probably heard the phrase somewhere and, like a child who imitates her parents, repeated it. But where did she get the idea that Dilandau was a woman? He knew that he was comely- bordering on effeminate, even- but he thought his gender rather obvious through his behavior, even to someone "not right in the head," as Arias had so tactfully put it. Maybe he looked female to some, but he _knew_ he did not _act_ female. Shays certainly could have tried harder to set Jay right. "Pretty face," indeed! Dilandau was getting sick of _that._ Back in Zaibach, he had once knocked a man unconscious for calling him _pretty._ (That man had been and still was the current general of Zaibach's Copper Army, and he now had a good deal more respect for Dilandau's fighting prowess. Dilandau didn't stand that kind of demeaning talk from _anyone._) Geez, a _woman?_ Why didn't they all just come out and say it? Jay was a damn lunatic, wasn't she? Dilandau hoped that Calantha would go back to using her husband to help her bring the food upstairs to Jay and Shays. He didn't know how long he could put up with Jay and still keep his temper in check. The reason the patience of Dilandau Albatou had gained fame across Zaibach was not because it was as unending as the night sky; _Folken_ was the one who could sit in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end and listen to King Aston give a speech without so much as a foot going numb. Damn it all, he couldn't help his face!

And just when Dilandau had thought he had begun to learn his way around the dark hallways of his new home, Calantha pushed open a door and led him out to a side of the castle he had not yet seen. The sun had lifted itself above the land just enough to shoot out bright, lancing rays of light almost parallel to the ground, at the perfect angle to strike directly in the eyes of any who looked in its direction. Dilandau scowled and lifted a hand to shade his face. The chill of the night had already begun to fade, but the stones beneath his bare feet were still cold, and wet with the dew. The air was damp and heavy with early morning mists that clouded in low, white splotches. Those shoots of sunlight that did not manage to pierce through or dance around the fog lit up the clouds like substantial, tangible things. Zaibach never had such fogs, the air was too dry. Dilandau watched one, with the sunlight bouncing about inside it, and he wondered if it would be possible to catch it, to touch it, if he came close enough, so solid it looked. But when he neared the clouds they dissolved, pulling away from his pale hands, laughing musically at his curiosity, and he immediately felt foolish for trying to reach them.

The peaceful, morning air had an unfamiliar scent to it, and Dilandau breathed it in deeply, trying to discern this new sensation. It was rich and fresh and he knew that he had smelled it somewhere else before, though definitely not in Zaibach. Despite the autumn season the air still smelled of life, he realized. Moreover, Fanelia had had that scent just before he burned it to the ground. He had never thought to pay attention to the smell of the air before.

Could he really be getting used to this place already?

No. He wouldn't. He would not let himself.

"Dilandau!" Calantha called, "what are you doing over there?" Dilandau stopped, a hand reached out to the mists. He turned, and answered her irritably.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Dilandau, the masters don't like it when you do nothing! Come back over here!" Calantha waved him toward her. Dilandau sighed and trudged back across the gray, damp stone, loose blades of grass sticking to his wet feet. He tried to shake them off, but they clung to him stubbornly. "Dilandau!"

"I'm coming!" he snapped, and closed the distance between them. It wasn't that the grass was painful, or uncomfortable, or a detriment to him…it was just annoying, and the things that annoyed Dilandau Albatou were usually promptly removed and destroyed. "Time for a glorious day of grape-picking?" he muttered.

"Yes!" Calantha spread her arms to her sides, drawing in a deep breath. "We're still alive and we're still here, so it's a glorious day!"

"Oh, spare me." Damn, were they all this cheerful? She sounded like Arias!

"Here you go!" Calantha took from a rickety, wooden shelf along the wall a small knife and handed it to him. Dilandau examined the knife. It had only one edge, and not a very sharp one at that; the blade was no longer than his thumb. He wondered at the safety of giving the slaves sharp objects, but, then, he was the only one here who was not content with his station. Well, if worse came to absolute worst…now he knew he had _one_ final escape from this place.

"And this is yours, too." Calantha held out a cylindrical basket to him. Dilandau took it uncertainly. Following her lead, he hooked it over his shoulders to let it hang not entirely comfortably down his back.

"What's this for?" he asked, adjusting the basket, trying to find a comfortable or at least a bearable spot on his shoulders.

"For the grapes," Calantha told him, in a tolerant tone. Dilandau shot her a sideways glare. How should _he_ have known that? He had never picked a grape in his life! And where _were_ the damn vineyards, anyway? Not that he was looking forward to the day's work, but he didn't remember seeing any, and a vineyard seemed like it would be something hard to miss. Calantha's voice interrupted his angry musings. "Follow me."

Dilandau adjusted the basket again with one hand, the knife in the other, and trudged after Calantha. The fog curled away as he walked, constantly revealing new features of the land and concealing the old ones they had passed, and presently the rising sun began to burn the mist away. Soon it had gone completely, and Dilandau could see all of the gilded forest in the distance, and the mountains that surrounded them. A simple, wooden fence lined the path, more to draw boundaries than to keep anyone out; it could be easily climbed. After all, all this land belonged to the Amaryllis family.

And this land that belonged to the Amaryllis family sloped gently downward from the castle, giving anyone who looked out a fairly good lay of the area. On this side of the castle the dead gardens were replaced with rows and rows of trellises, covered in vines still full and green, though if he looked up close Dilandau could probably see stems turning brown with the season. The branches, heavily weighted with grapes, bowed down to the ground. An almost sickeningly sweet smell had begun to waft through the air as the sun struck the fruit, warming it. The packed-soil ground was splashed with purple and the crushed and decomposing remains of grapes that had fallen from the vine and been crushed under slave feet. Dilandau looked out across the endless rows and wondered how anyone could possibly expect _people_ to pick all of these.

Then he remembered that they were all slaves, and they would do what they were told; they would have to find a way to achieve the impossible, if they were ordered to do so.

Calantha took him past the other slaves already hard at work to an empty row. "Watch me," she instructed, "it's really easy." She reached out and took hold of the nearest bunch of grapes. "Be careful how you grab them. Don't squeeze too hard, or you'll bruise them." Dilandau nodded, bored, only half-listening, running his thumb along the edge of his little knife. The damn thing probably wasn't even sharp enough to cut bread. But Calantha took hers, sliced the bunch of grapes free, reached back over her shoulder, and dropped it into her basket. "You got that?"

Dilandau rolled his eyes. "I could have figured _that_ out on my own." Calantha didn't have a reply for him. Apparently there wasn't much sarcasm or displays of sharp wits around here. Hell, the rest of the slaves' wits were probably as sharp as these pathetic knives. "What do I do once the basket is full?" he asked. Not that he planned to work hard enough to fill it, but it couldn't hurt to know. Better to be informed than not, even if the information seemed useless.

"Take it back up to the castle, someone will meet you and give you a new one." Calantha waved back over her shoulder. "Have fun, Dilandau!"

"Have fun," he muttered, sizing up the wall of green and purple before him, "she probably thinks this _is_ fun." He looked around him. Now that Calantha had left, he was alone for the first time in what felt like a year. He could hear shaking branches and muffled footsteps, and even the occasional clumsy curse as the others went about their work, but he could not actually _see_ anyone. The vines covered the trellises too thickly for his line of vision to pass through them.

He sighed. The solitude was a relief, at least for now. He had begun to feel claustrophobic with so many other people around him. Even back in Zaibach he had been uncomfortable at the annual parade and other events meant to raise patriotism. And when Zaibach had announced its new alliance with Asturia- had _that_ ever been a nightmare! As one of Zaibach's highest-ranking soldiers, and as one remarkably young for his position, he had been forced to travel to Palas along with the generals and ambassadors; and he had had to wave at the people from the gondola, and smile and pretend that he took a personal interest in the well-being of their country and that their alliance had brought him a personal happiness. And he had had to dance with the women at the palace, he a dreary, black mark among their gay silks and laces, a severe style among their layers of flowing fabric and artfully tailored gowns; he, with his expression a carefully arranged mask to hide his absolute irritation and apathy, only speaking when spoken to and even then keeping his answers as short as possible; they, with their hair full of jewels and their mouths full of endless, polite small talk and gossip and their heads full of nothing. He had choked on the perfume-laden air and ignored them as they batted their eyes at him from behind feathered fans, he had tolerated the peasants and countrymen who held out bunches of wildflowers to him as he walked by as if he were a great hero who would come valiantly to defend their country against its foes. He had kept his face politically stoic and borne everything, all the while wanting to scream in frustration and run from the outstretched hands and pleading eyes and the cheers and the high, girlish giggles when he glanced at them. That was how he had felt here, last night, though it was not quite so overwhelming. Every time he turned around he nearly knocked over someone else, and he was not used to being in such close proximity to so many people. He supposed he would become accustomed to it in time.

No. He wouldn't be here long enough to become accustomed to it. He couldn't let himself start to think that he would be here for that long. Yes, they would find him. Folken would find him. Folken could do anything. Or he would escape. But how would he ever find his way home from the _Mystic Valley?_

Dilandau seized hold of a bunch of grapes and sawed angrily at the vine with his little knife. Well, he'd be damned if he had play the part of the proper aristocrat and danced with those empty-headed little girls all to never know if that alliance had even held! It had _better_ hold!

He dropped the bunch of grapes over his shoulder into the basket and reached for another. Well, this could be worse. At least this menial kind of labor required no real thought on his part. He could set his body on automatic and allow his mind to wander, for all the good it would do him. With a task so simplistic, he didn't think he would be able to feel the satisfaction of a good day's work when he went to sleep tonight. For the first time in his life, he wouldn't even be able to enjoy the fruits of his own labor.

Dilandau smiled. Fruits of his own labor. A jest.

His smile changed quickly to a scowl as his hand slipped, and a line of red opened up on the side of his finger. He stuck the finger in his mouth, tasting blood metallic on his tongue, and glared at the grapes scattered on the ground, wasted. Damn these blunt knives!

  
Several hours and as many cuts later, Dilandau wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, closed his eyes, and arched back, trying to relieve some of the pain and stiffness in his body. He was used to physically demanding tasks, but this was the special kind of pain born from repeating the same movement for hours, the kind of pain that no kind of training or conditioning can ever prevent. The weight of all those grapes in the basket added up after carrying them on his back for so long.

It wasn't so much his weariness that bothered him. He was a Dragon Slayer, he had taught himself to ignore physical discomfort up to the point where it threatened his health. But the sun was a real problem. Maybe it had been winter at night, but now during the day it felt like full-blown summer. The sun blazed in the sky so brightly that it hurt Dilandau's sensitive eyes even if he didn't look up, so brightly that everything else in the world seemed to darken next to its intensity. It heated the air, and no wind blew. It heated his hair so that it burned his fingers to touch the back of his head. It seemed to leech all his energy right out of him. If he lifted a hand, he could see his exposed skin already beginning to turn pink, and he predicted that this day would not turn out well. Being albino, Dilandau had always found himself sensitive to the sun. His uniform covered most of his body, but in cases where the Dragon Slayers needed to be outside for a long period of time, he had found that he needed to cover himself further with a hood and dark glasses, or even a mask on several occasions. There was no way that this could end well. He huddled close to the trellises and the small amount of shade they offered. He had to get away from that sun! Was this truly the same sun that shone on Zaibach every day?

Dilandau twisted his fingers through the vines and leaned into the scant coolness of the green leaves. Just one moment. He needed a moment to rest out of the sun. He needed water. His mouth had gone dry. Damn the sun!

A soft breeze rustled the leaves, brushing his face sweetly. Ah, but it felt so good, so cool…

Cool? No, the wind in the middle of the day in _this_ place was anything but cool.

And then he heard the scream from several rows over. Dilandau opened his eyes as droplets of blood pattered across his face like rain. Something solid thudded into the vines above his head and, being too heavy for them to hold up, slipped to the ground, shaking fruit off their stems. Dilandau blinked at the torn arm laying in the dust at his feet. _What the hell?_ He looked up. Such bright sun…it glinted strangely in the air, as though sparkling off ice. Off ice?

And then the ear-splitting roar rattled the vines and sent grapes bouncing along the ground. Something moved above him-something, he couldn't see it, the light passed right through it. But in places the light bounced off, and Dilandau thought that he could make out the arch of a sinuous neck, the blink of an eye, and all the while the air had gotten noticeably colder. Was this another one of Shays's damn destiny tricks?

But another of the slaves identified the problem for him with a terrified scream of "mountain dragon!" before he was abruptly silenced with a grinding crunch.

Mountain dragon? Dilandau had heard of land dragons and sea dragons, but never mountain dragons. He dropped his basket to the ground and dashed to the end of his row, fingering the little knife. _His_ first instinct was to fight, but he couldn't kill a lame squirrel with this poor excuse for a blade. And what if this was some weird culture that outlawed harming dragons? Shays could make his life _miserable._ He peered around a trellis to the next row. The worker there had hidden himself beneath the vines, trying to stay out of the dragon's sight. The next slave had done the same. Cowards, all of them.

He looked up the path that led up to the castle. One of his fellow Drifters, at least, had kept his wits about him, and was dashing away from the vineyard, crying "Master!" at the top of his lungs. Gone to get help, then?

The air around Dilandau became frighteningly chill, a shocking change to his body from the heat of the sun, and he jumped away as an icy claw slammed into the ground where he had just stood.

  
Shays sighed. "Gods, Jay, sit still!" he instructed. Jay squirmed in her chair uncomfortably, her eyes constantly going to the window and the bright sky through it. They had been in this room all day, ever since breakfast; she probably wanted out.

"Go outside!" she insisted. "Outside!" Yes, he had been right. Shays shook his head.

"You can't go outside. I'm not finished with you yet." Jay continued to gaze out the window. "Look at me, Jay," Shays told her. Jay ignored him. Shays sat back in his chair. "Jay. Jay. Pay attention, Jay. Jay. Jay!"

Jay looked back to him innocently. She traced the pattern of gold along the table with one finger. She kicked her legs; she was much smaller than her brother, and her feet dangled inches above the floor.

"Pay attention, Jay," Shays repeated. "We're almost done, and then Father will take you for a walk outside."

"Outside!" Jay's face lit up.

Shays held up six feathers, each dyed a different, brilliant color of the rainbow. "Which of these is blue, Jay?" he asked.

Jay studied the feathers intently, her face set in a frown of intense concentration. She reached out and plucked the purple feather from Shays's hand.

"Blue!" she proclaimed. Shays shook his head.

"No, Jay." Her face fell. He held out his hand, and she placed the feather in his palm. "This is purple," he told her. "Purple. Say it."

"Purple," she repeated sullenly.

There came a knock at the door. "Enter," Shays called, setting the feathers on the table. The door opened and a slave staggered in, exhausted by his sprint from the vineyards.

"Master!" he gasped, falling to his knees on the soft, dark carpet, "Master, mountain dragon!"

"Dragon!" Jay wailed, covering her face with her hands, "dragon!"

"Stop that!" Shays snapped, standing. She had already worn his patience thin enough for the day. "Where is it?" he asked the slave.

"The vineyards!" the slave panted, bowing his head. "It's in the vineyards, Master."

"Dammit!" Shays scowled. "It could ruin the entire harvest! Keep an eye on Jay," he ordered. "Don't let her near anything she could fit in her mouth. You have my permission to pull her back if you have to."

"Yes, Master."

And then Shays was no longer standing in the room.

Shays appeared on the path down the center of the vineyard amid the shouts. Yes, there it was, the great lizard that looked as though it could have been carved from ice. If it turned at the right angle, the light passed right through it, and it was all but invisible. Then it would turn just so, and the light would bounce off the dragon's armor, or enter and then find that it could not leave, and brought the dragon into full view with a brilliant, white light. The only thing that he could constantly see was its energist, softly glowing purple inside it.

It was a beautiful creature, yes, but not when it was tearing up his vineyards and killing his Drifters. Moreover, what was the damn beast even doing here at this time of the year? The dragons never even came down from the mountains so early, let alone this early _and_ this far into the heart of New Atlantis, not when the day was still so hot, _never._ Perhaps it was deranged. Well, whatever its reasons for being here, it would not be hard to get rid of. Shays had taken care of mountain dragons before, even in the dead of winter. He simply reached out to the dragon, reached out and let destiny flow through his fingers and swirl about him, and willed it that the beast was not here, but back in the mountains where it belonged.

But nothing happened. Shays frowned. He reached up to grip the red ornament dangling from the left corner of his cloak, and he tried again. Nothing. What did this mean? Was the dragon meant to be here? Impossible! Extremely few things were ever _meant_ to be, and they were always things vastly important, not dumb beasts! Perhaps he was approaching the problem in the wrong way. He had only encountered one instance where he could not change fate, and that did not count, because it wore a pretty white dress and a bright, innocent smile and went by the name of Jay, and there were more things wrong with Jay than not. The ornament clenched tightly in his fist, Shays changed tactics, swirling a hand through the waters of destiny's fountain. He willed it that the dragon was here, but dead.

The dragon knocked aside trellises with a claw and snapped at another slave. What was going on? Why couldn't he change it? What was different from the last time a dragon had come? What was different?

That new slave- Shays couldn't even remember his name now, but he thought it started with a "D" sound- stumbled away from the dragon, recovered his footing, and looked up at Shays. "Well?" the slave demanded defiantly, "aren't you going to do anything?"

Do anything? What did the slave think he was doing? Looking for shapes in the clouds? Why couldn't he change it? What was different this time? What? _What?_

"Or are you just going to stand there and let it kill us all?" the slave continued. Shays gave him a cold glance. He would have to be punished later. Really, the disrespect for a slave to address a High Artisan in that manner!

For a slave…

There! _That_ was what had changed! Shays released the ornament on his cloak and pointed at the slave. "_You._"

The slave started. "_Me?_ What about me? You think I have something to do with this damn dragon?" he asked, waving back at the lizard as it pinned a fleeing woman to the ground under its claw.

Of course! Shays had suspected that this slave was an unusual one! _He_ was what was different from the last time a dragon had attacked!

Shays nodded to the dragon. "Kill it." He waited for the reaction, the 'there's no way in hell I can kill that thing' that he would probably receive. 


	7. Chapter 7: Kyrie Eleison, Part II

Audiblebeauty- Thanks! I'm really enjoying your "Dangerous Thoughts," too. The Sorcerers seem to have been getting a lot of hell lately, between the two of us. ^^  
Spinereader- Hmm, can't say I've ever seen Buffy. Well, Dilandau's headpiece/diadem/tiara/insert alternate noun here is gone. He got stripped of everything when the slave trader got him. Shays has all his stuff now. (And thank you for the complements for my website!)  
Faraday- *Grins* I feel loved.  
tweedle- We'll see.  
NeverEndingQuest- I dare say he'll be surprised. Can you suggest a really good Hitomi x Dilandau fic? I can't really see how one of those would come about, save in an AU story...the two of them only even meet once, and that was hardly a meeting...*shrugs*

A/N: Oh dear, I've really gotten myself into a fix, haven't I? Now I have to produce a really awesome dragon slaying...

  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 7- Kyrie Eleison, Part II**

  
Kill it? Shays wanted him to kill that dragon? Dilandau opened his mouth to refuse, but he stopped. He had slain land dragons and sea dragons before with ease, how much harder could an ice dragon be? And if he got rid of it...Shays would owe him. and he just might be able to use that as part of a barter for his freedom in the future. Besides, by the way Shays was looking at him, he expected Dilandau to refuse, and there were few things Dilandau enjoyed more than doing what others did not expect of him. 

Dilandau held up his little knife matter-of-factly. "I can't do it with this. You're lucky it cuts through grape vines." 

Shays appeared taken aback. What was wrong? Ha! He _had_ expected Dilandau to refuse. Today he would be very surprised, indeed. "What do you need?" Shays asked. 

What did he need? What did Shays think he needed? How did they usually get rid of dragons in this place, magic wands and faerie dust? Did Shays usually twiddle his fingers and mumble a cantrip, and he needed Dilandau to get rid of the dragon today because he had used up all the magic in his left pinkie getting his hair to stand up this morning? Or was Dilandau supposed to walk up to the beast and ask politely, "Please, Mr. Dragon, won't you leave us alone and go kill somebody else?" Dilandau folded his arms. "Give me my sword," he replied, making certain that the tone in his voice left no debate but that the statement was a demand, and not a request. 

Shays tilted his head to the side. "Your sword?" 

What, did they not have swords in this place? "The long thing with the sharp side!" Dilandau told him. "It's very shiny, that should help you recognize it!" 

Shays pressed his lips together in a thin line, tilting his head back slightly to look down at Dilandau. Oops. That was Shays's Angry Posture, wasn't it? (Dilandau prided himself upon his ability to read body language, and everybody had certain positions that they always assumed for the same emotions; well, except for Folken, who looked the same no matter what his mood. Folken didn't count; Folken was the exception to everything. Shays wasn't nearly as interesting as some of the other people Dilandau had observed. General Adelphos, for example, had a _very_ amusing Angry Posture; his every encounter with Dilandau left him sputtering, his face a vivid shade of purple.) Shays certainly looked angry. _Maybe I went a little too far with that one._ But, Dilandau was suddenly holding his sheathed sword in his hands. 

"You have it," Shays told him. "Now kill the dragon." 

Dilandau turned away from Shays, drew his sword, and tossed the sheath aside. He had found occasions to fight with his sword in one hand and his sheath in the other, hitting his adversaries over the head with it, but that was only worth the effort it took when he was overly outnumbered, and it wouldn't do him any good here. The skin of his sunburned hands stretched tight across his knuckles painfully as he gripped the hilt. Unlike what most thought, dragons were quite easy to kill if you knew what you were doing, and Dilandau could usually off one in several minutes. If this thing was like the other dragons, a good thrust straight into the heart would kill it quickly and easily. Of course, the tricky part was finding that spot where the sword could penetrate the dragon's scales, and then stabbing it in that spot before _it_ killed _you._ Dilandau still held the record in both Asturia and Zaibach for the quickest slaying of a dragon, though- seven miets, give or take, from the time the thing had entered the arena to the time that he cut out its energist and thrust it triumphantly in the air. 

Dilandau glanced back over his shoulder at Shays. "Isn't there anything you can do?" he asked. "Make me invisible or something?" Shays closed his eyes a moment. 

"No. I can't do anything now. I couldn't even send you sword back. I don't know what's going on, but I can't get a hold on it. It slides right out of my fingers." It? What was this "it" that Shays referred to? Destiny, probably, right? That was the reason that he was so much better than the rest of them; he could grab destiny out of the air and tie it in knots, right? But he couldn't right now. 

_Am I doing that?_ Dilandau wondered. Could he somehow block Shays from reaching Fate? That was _definitely_ worth looking into. But not quite yet. 

Dilandau approached the dragon warily. Really, it wouldn't have mattered if Shays could have made him invisible or not. Dragons could smell aggression, all of them, no matter what species of they were, and he had no reason to believe that this one would be any different. Indeed, it had stopped its random rampaging and crouched low to the ground, sniffing the air cautiously, its slit-pupiled eyes fixed on him. It hadn't had a target before, with the slaves running about in panic like ants from a stirred-up mound. Now it knew that Dilandau meant to kill it. The air around it grew even more chill, and the sweat that had soaked Dilandau's clothes had begun to freeze. _Damn, it's smart,_ he thought. _It's following me. Usually they lose interest if you don't move._ Well, he couldn't afford to stand still. By lowering its head to smell him out, it had made its vulnerable eyes readily available to him. If he could start out by wounding it, by half-blinding it, the rest of the fight should go rather easily. Dilandau darted forward, thrusting his sword at the dragon's left eye. The beast blinked dumbly; he was too fast for it! It hadn't even registered his attack yet! 

The dragon tilted its head and opened its mouth. Too late, Dilandau realized his mistake. _Oh, shit! It's a lot smarter than I thought! It set a trap for me! The damn thing set a trap for me!_ Dilandau spread his arms to his sides and dug his feet into the ground, but he could not stop his momentum from carrying him forward and into the dragon's waiting mouth. _Shit!_ Dilandau pulled his legs up to his chest as the dragon's mouth snapped shut. 

It was like burying himself in a snowdrift. The ice tongue pressed his body against the ice roof of its mouth, and near-freezing saliva soaked though his clothes. What to do now? The dragon's mouth was just barely big enough to fit him. It had meant to tear him in half; thank goodness he was too large for it to swallow whole! Dilandau moved to plunge his sword into the dragon's throat and stopped. What if the blade became stuck? He would never get it back! Through the dragon's translucent flesh he could see Shays watching him, a look of the most extreme shock and horror on the High Artisan's face. He would show Shays that Dilandau Albatou was not a common slave! 

Dilandau shifted carefully to let the edge of his sword press against the dragon's soft tongue and pushed down with all his might. The blade sank in, and transparent blood welled cold from the wound. The dragon screeched in pain and flung back its head, opening its mouth. Dilandau flew into the air, scraping along its icicle-sharp teeth. Dilandau fell, slowed, and landed gently back on his feet. He looked to Shays, who lowered his hand. 

"It is something," Shays said, his violet eyes a bit nervous. "Kill it!" he commanded. Dilandau nodded. 

The dragon drew in a deep breath, and Dilandau tensed. What was it about to do? What was it going to spit at him? 

"Watch out!" Shays barked. Dilandau jumped aside as the ice dragon spewed forth a great gout of white wind. Water in the air condensed on the grapevines and the fence that had formerly been behind him; it froze on the leaves and frosted the fence, and icicles dripped down. Unaccustomed to the added weight of the ice, the trellis toppled over and shattered. 

_Oh, shit!_ Dilandau darted beneath the dragon and scanned its belly frantically for a spot in the ice scales that his sword might penetrate. _Nobody warned me that it could do that! Shit shit shit!_ Angling the blade of his sword, he stabbed up, forcing it beneath the scales and into flesh. Immediately ice began to form on the sword, the cold crawling up the blade to freeze the hilt, and Dilandau jerked it out as he felt his fingers sticking. The dragon roared in pain and reeled away, and transparent blood- like freezing cold water -poured from the wound. Dilandau gasped and shuddered as it touched his burning skin, and the dragon still did not die. He had missed its heart! Dilandau wondered vaguely if he should try stabbing it in the tail. Perhaps this dragon kept its heart in a different place than the rest. He was moving slowly now; despite the burning sun, he was so cold, as though in winter...he had to kill it, before it tried to eat him again! Dilandau plunged his sword into the dragon's chest again, in the wound he had already made, drove it in up to the hilt, throwing all his weight behind the blow just to get it in. More cold blood spouted from the dragon's body, soaking him completely. He could feel his own blood trickling warm down his skin from the cuts the dragon's teeth had opened as it spit him out. _Shit shit shit shit..._

Screaming, the dragon collapsed atop Dilandau. 

But Dilandau was suddenly no longer under the dragon; he huddled on the ground beside Shays, his skin turned a pale purple- blue from the cold, and red from the burns from the sun, and a vivid spiderweb of lines of crimson blood on one side for variety. "_Shit,_" Dilandau muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest. He couldn't stop shivering, couldn't stop his teeth from chattering. The dragon's blood had turned to ice on his skin, and even the hot sun didn't warm him. At least his wounds from its teeth didn't bleed anymore, they had frozen shut. "_Shit._" 

Shays looked back and forth from the dead dragon to Dilandau, a humorous look of utter disbelief on his face. "That was incredible," Shays murmured. "I've never seen anything like that." Dilandau glanced up at Shays. 

"You're damn right it was incredible!" he shot feebly. I've fought a lot of dragons, but I've never had one bleed ice on me before! And I've definitely never had one _eat_ me before!" 

Shays shook his head, as if he still could not believe that the dragon was actually dead. He opened his hand, and the purple energist appeared in his palm. The dragon's corpse melted and evaporated in a curling, swirling cloud of steam. Dilandau was immediately warmer as the chilling blood on his skin vanished. As he pushed himself up on one elbow and scraped his wet hair out of his face, his sword and sheath disappeared. He looked up to Shays expectantly. Surely, after all that, he wouldn't be made to stand out here as the sun peeled his skin from his bones all day! 

Shays stared down at Dilandau. "Get back to work," he said shortly, and vanished.

Get back to work? _Get back to work?_ Dilandau had just killed the damn dragon from him, had risked his own life to do it, was probably going to end up with some sort of injury after forcing his body to go from extreme heat to extreme cold so quickly, and all Shays had to say was 'get back to work'? Some dragons had poison in their saliva! He could be dying right now, and Shays's only thought was 'get back to work'? Dilandau flopped back down, staring up at the sky so deceivingly blue. At the moment...he did not have the energy to get back to work. 

  
Shays reappeared in the place he had departed, in the castle, in the room with his sister. "Was she any trouble?" he asked the slave, who had recovered his breath and his strength by now. 

The slave shook his head nervously. "N-no, M-master, but..." he stammered, lifting a hand to point at Jay. He needn't have made the gesture, Shays could have guessed. Whenever one of the slaves began to stutter, it meant that his twin was up to something abnormal again. "I'm n-not quite sure w-what she's doing..." 

Shays looked to his sister. In his absence Jay had assumed an entirely strange position, one arm thrown over the back of her chair and the other suspended in the air as if she had lifted it with the intention of resting it upon the table and stopped halfway through the motion. She had tucked one leg underneath her chair and stretched the other one out, both feet bent at odd angles, and she had bowed her head forward, her hair hanging in her face. 

"S-she's not moving, Master," the slave stammered. 

"Oh, she'll come out of it in a few hours, I'm sure," Shays told him casually, used to this. "Go back to the vineyards." 

"Yes, Master." The slave hurried out the door, and Shays coughed and walked to the window. He sighed. Well, at least Jay would be sitting still long enough for him to try to fix the damage that the dragon had done. He reached out first to the frozen grapevines. 

  


***

  
Dilandau pushed his hands through the grapevines until he found the sturdy frame of the trellis and hung onto it, leaning against it for support. Get back to work. What a wonderful way to thank him for killing that dragon! He hung his head forward, letting his hair fall to frame his face, anything to get the sun off his skin that had now turned a vivid shade of pink. The gashes from the dragon's teeth burned cold like white fire down his side. At least they had stopped bleeding, but Dilandau was certain that he was poisoned, or infected, or perhaps a degree of both. That sun...he had been thankful for it before as he lay in it on his back, letting it warm him after his encounter with the dragon's cold blood. But it was all too soon before it began leeching his strength again. How could anything be that hot? 

Dilandau sank to his knees, taking the heavy basket from his back and setting it on the ground. His vision blurred and swam. Just a moment...he just needed a moment to rest...he fell forward on his hands. He felt ill, he was going to throw up. No, he could make it...even if the wind was to blow, just a little, it would help...this heat... 

A blessed shadow fell over Dilandau. A cloud? Was it going to rain? Ah, how much better that would be! He lifted his head thankfully. No, no cloud. Who was this angry man standing over him with a rod in his hand? His clothes were too fine for another slave...and besides, he had that purple teardrop on his cheek. 

"What are you doing down there?" the man demanded. "Get back to work!"

That again? Dilandau prepared a rebuttal that, if he had used it in Asturia, would have kept Folken busy smoothing ruffled feathers for a month...but he didn't have the strength to argue. He could not make words come from his dry lips. Maybe if he kept working, they would give him water. 

Dilandau pulled himself to his feet slowly, the world still blurred and swimming to his eyes. "Faster!" the man barked, and the wooden rod cracked across Dilandau's shoulders. He gasped sharply. Well! It seemed that there _were_ consequences for poor work, after all. Couldn't this man see that he was dying? Why did these people seem to enjoy hitting him with stick so much? But he would not stand for it. Dilandau made a clumsy grab for the rod with a reddened hand. He missed. The overseer brought his knee up into Dilandau's stomach, then threw Dilandau to the ground. "Get back to work, dammit!" he ordered. 

Laying in the dust, Dilandau looked up at the man. "No," he managed. The look of surprise on the man's kismet-marked face was satisfying, but it brought the rod down on his back again. Dilandau closed his eyes. He cared not. He would not lift another finger. No, he would just lay here and sleep, because the rain was so nice and cool... 

The rod opened lines of pain in Dilandau's skin, and he didn't care...he shivered, and then he saw black. 

  


***

  
Shays was jerked awake with a loud knock at his door. "Master!" Arias's voice called, "Master!" Shays growled. This had better be something important. Well, it _must_ be something important, or else the door wouldn't have re-appeared to let Arias out. 

"What?" he called irritably. Why did they always come and wake _him_, and not his father? 

"Master," Arias called, "there's something wrong with Dilandau!" 

Dilandau. Dilandau. Why did that name sound familiar? The new slave? No, he had heard it once before...yes, it must be the name of that new slave. An odd name for an odd boy. Right. Shays pulled his cloak on over his nightclothes and, feeling more than seeing in the darkness, opened the door to his bedroom. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, forcing patience as Arias bowed to him. At least Arias only bothered him at night when something was _very_ important. 

"He won't stop screaming, Master." 

Screaming? Shays was beginning to regret his purchase of this slave. Dilandau was entirely too headstrong to begin with; what was he up to now? 

Shays seized Arias's wrist in a surprisingly strong hand and willed it that they were standing in the slaves' room, instead of upstairs in Shays's room. As soon as they appeared they saw, palely illuminated in the bright moonlight, Dilandau, huddled on the stone floor apart from the other slaves. A circle of kneeling, worried Drifters had formed around him. The albino's arms and face and neck and feet had turned a bright red from the sun, and he had curled himself in a ball as though hiding from something. Angry, purple lines drawn by the dragon's teeth crawled down the arm that Shays could see. Dilandau's cries echoed off the hard walls and high ceiling. 

Shays looked to Arias. "You woke me and brought me down here for a nightmare?" he asked irritably. Arias shook his head, bowing. 

"The children have nightmares many times, Master, and they never scream like that, only wake up scared! And we can't wake him! I shook him and shook him, and I can't wake him up! Do you think- do you think that the dragon poisoned him?" 

"Nonsense. It's the land dragons that carry poison, not the mountain dragons. It's night terrors, then." Shays sighed in irritation. One slave was not worth this much trouble! He stepped forward, the circle opening to allow him passage, and knelt next to Dilandau. 

"Dilandau," he said firmly. Dilandau cried out and flung his arms up in front of his face. Shays gripped Dilandau's shoulder and shook him violently, nearly knocking Dilandau's head on the floor. Gods! Why did the dragon wounds feel so cold beneath his hand? "Dilandau!" Dilandau did not open his eyes. Well, for his sake, it was a good thing that a member of the Violet Order had bought him. Someone from the Scarlet Order would have just killed him by now. 

Shays splayed his fingers and rested his fingertips on Dilandau's back, noting the swollen bruises and cuts, the tunic stiff with blood. So, Aaron had found it necessary to take the rod to Dilandau, had he? Hopefully, he had cured that rebellious streak. If not, Dilandau would learn soon enough. 

"Dilandau," Shays repeated quietly. Dilandau's eyes flew open, and he gasped, and the slaves cheered. 

"You're all right!" Arias crouched with Dilandau and Shays. "What were you dreaming about? It must have been frightening." 

"I-I don't know." Dilandau sat up slowly, panting. "I don't remember anything." He shook his head and looked up, and, spying Shays, caught Shays's left hand in his. 

"Folken!" Dilandau cried, "you found me! I knew you wouldn't let them take me!" 

_Folken?_ Shays looked at Dilandau suspiciously. "How do you know that name?" 

Dilandau's eyes clouded. He looked from Shays's left hand to his right. "Your arm is real," he murmured. "You're not Folken." 

_Right arm?_ Shays seized Dilandau's face between his hands. "How do you know that name? Answer me!" he demanded. 

"Why do you remind me so much of Folken?" Dilandau mused. 

Shays scowled. It was no use. The sun must have gotten to him. "Why do you call the name of this 'Folken'? Folken isn't here," he told Dilandau, "and _I_ am your master now." 

"Master." Dilandau's eyes were fevered, delirious. He pulled out of Shays's grip and bowed, pressing his burned forehead to the floor. "You won't let them find me, will you, Master? If I was screaming, that must be what I was dreaming about. I know they're looking for me." 

Shays frowned. "Who?" 

Dilandau looked up at Shays, his eyes wild. "Don't let them take me, Master!" He clutched at the hem of Shays's cloak. "I know they're looking for me! They must be! They tried to take me once, but I got away! Don't let them take me away!" 

Gods, was this one insane? "Calm down," Shays ordered, but Dilandau did not obey. 

"Please, Master!" he begged. 

Shays seized Dilandau's wrist. Dilandau would pay, later, for making him resort to this. He willed a syringe to his hand. "This is usually for Jay," he muttered, "but it might work on _you,_ too." He plunged the needle into Dilandau's arm. 

Dilandau's face looked as though he had been betrayed. "You're one of _them!_" he choked, and his eyelids sagged, and he slumped forward. Arias caught him before he could land face-first on the hard floor. 

Shays released Dilandau's arm. "Arias," he said. 

"Yes, Master?" Arias asked, turning Dilandau over onto his back. 

"Take care of him tomorrow. He isn't fit to work in this state." 

"Yes, Master." 

Shays willed it that he was standing back in his bedroom, and he appeared there. Loud wailing pierced the flowing silence that he had left. He sighed. "Jay. Gods, why does everything have to happen in the middle of the night?" He threw open his door and stormed out, his bare feet protesting the transition from the soft carpet of his room to the cold stone of the hallway. The crying grew louder as he walked, until he came to another door that stood ajar, the light of a candle making a soft, thick line along the floor and the wall. The room inside was very different from his; wood paneled the walls instead of tapestries that could be pulled down, there were no books or objects that could be thrown about, no table and chairs that could be tripped over. It was very much like a child's nursery. His sister was sitting up in her bed, sobbing into the robe of a woman with black curls spilling down her back. Anna Amaryllis was a stunningly beautiful woman, even when awakened in the middle of the night. 

"Mother." Crossing the room, Shays sat on the edge of the bed with the two women. "What happened?" 

"Ah, Arias frightened her, that's all." Anna kissed her daughter's forehead, as used to Jay's episodes as her son. "Quiet down, sweetheart, nothing's wrong," she crooned. Shays lifted a hand to stroke his sister's hair absently. 

"He woke her up with all that shouting and pounding on my door. Why won't you just let me get rid of him, Mother? He's a worthless slave. He can hardly work anymore. The only thing he's good for is that we might get a few children out of him and Calantha." 

"We've been over this before, Shays," Anna told him, in the voice of a mother who has tired of arguing a point. "I just don't have the heart to get rid of him, and neither does your father. You understand why." 

Shays sighed again. "I _know_ why, but I don't understand it." 

"You think with your head too much, my son." 

"Sometimes I think I'm the only one who _does_ around here." 

"What did Arias want?" Anna asked. "It must have been something important, if the door re-appeared to let him out." 

"The new slave was ill. He couldn't handle the sun." Shays shook his head. "He's an odd one, that's certain. If I had known that beforehand, I do not believe I would have bought him." 

"Well, it's done now. Did you take care of it?" 

"For now, at least." Shays pulled his hand away. "Oh, calm down, Jay! There's nothing wrong!" Jay sniffed and looked up at him with tearful eyes. 

"Have patience with her, Shays!" Anna scolded. "You know more than anyone else she needs it!" 

"I've had patience, Mother!" Shays stood and turned his back on her. He began pacing, his feet quiet on the carpet. "I've had patience with her over and over again! I've had patience with myself! But it's not working, Mother! Nothing is working!" Jay began to wail anew. "Oh, shut up, Jay!" he snapped. 

"Shays!" Anna warned. 

"Mother, my patience is running out! Every day I've had patience with her! I joined the Violet Order for her! Constantly I work with her!" 

"And she _has_ made progress!" Anna argued. 

"Hardly enough to measure!" Shays stopped his pacing. "How old was I when I learned to talk? Two? Three? And Jay began last year. How old was I when I learned the colors? One? Two? She still can't do that! And if that weren't enough, I can't reach her! I can't touch her! All the changes I try to make to her destiny pass right through her! I'm running out of ideas, Mother! I am running out of ideas!" 

Anna held out an arm to Shays. He sat back down next to her with the air of someone who would rather be left alone, and wearily rested his head on his mother's shoulder, his face across from Jay, who had finally calmed and looked as though she might fall asleep. "I'm so frustrated," he finished. 

"You're doing your best," Anna answered simply. "Things could be worse." 

"How?" he asked, looking up at her. 

"Foxes could come in the middle of the night and shave your head." 

"Mother!" Shays scoffed, recognizing her allusion to a bedtime story from his childhood. "That's ridiculous!" 

"Well, then, the faeries could kidnap you." 

"Right after the foxes shave my head!" 

Anna laughed softly. "Now you've got it." 

Shays lifted his head. "If you're taking care of Jay, I'm going back to sleep now." 

"Go on. Sweet dreams, Shays." 

"Good night." Shays kissed his mother's cheek, and returned to his room. 

Gods! Had that scene downstairs ever been odd! The slave's words may have been the rantings of someone with the sun-fever...but the arm was too much of a coincidence. The slave had looked at Shays's right arm, and observed that it was real. 

Shays summoned the bag of the slave's possessions and spilled them onto his bed. One of these must be able to tell him something. He lit the lamp on his desk and hunted through the objects, tossing the sword back into the bag, then the shoes, the armor jacket. One of these things here called to him--ah, that was it. The gold diadem. Still in his nightclothes and cloak, Shays sat down at his desk. "Who are you, Drifter?" he murmured. A knife from the kitchen appeared in his hand, and he pried carefully at the lavender stone set into the piece of jewelry. If only he had more appropriate tools to do this with! But the stone loosened, and he worked at it further, and it popped off and clattered to the desk. Shays pulled the lamp closer and peered at the space behind the stone. He had expected to see ordinary gold, the same as the rest of the diadem. But no, tiny, hair-fine wires filled the opened space. Intrigued, Shays ran his finger along the diadem's edge, and found that the metal band was not one piece, but two halves put together. He plied the knife's blade to the crack that ran along the entire length of the diadem's edge, and in a few moments the two pieces separated, revealing a network of those thin wires like grapevines crawling up the trellis. Shays set the knife down and brushed his fingers along the wires, turned the diadem around in his hands. He smiled. "Why, Folken," he laughed softly, "this has your name written all over it. Did you send this slave to me?" 


	8. Chapter 8: Secrets the Blood Speaks

Sis of the Darkness- More pain??? More pain for who? Yes, there will be many more chapters to come...I have absolutely no idea how long this thing is going to be.  
Akira- _Maybe_...^^  
Kou-Kagerou- Yeek! A typo! Thank you for pointing that out! I'll have to go back and fix it...and revamp the end of chapter 7. I did experiment with putting the events in a different order before, but this one was the least confusing. Still, it needs work. It's funny you should say that about the dragon...my fencing buddies have recently started teaching me to play D&D. (Wrote that dragon before that, though.)  
Deadly Beauty1- Praise is good. *Grin* *Munches cookies and sets to writing*  
Faraday- Yea! So the dragon slaying turned out good after all!  
lil- Thank you!  
Audiblebeauty- Oooh, snowflake obsidian is really cool. Thank you for reminding me of it. I'll have to use it in here sometime. ^^ Sarcastic characters are so much fun to write with.  
Zero-no-uta- Thank you! ^^ *Feels loved*

A/N: *Breathes extreme sigh of relief* So the dragon slaying was good after all! Whew! As with one of the previous chapters, I didn't get to do nearly as much editing with this as I would have liked, but I haven't updated in a long time, and with studying for AP tests my spare time has been almost zero.

  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 8- Secrets the Blood Speaks**

A concerned frown passed across Sir Allen Schezar's comely face. "A search for one of your own?" he asked. "Who has been lost?" 

"A commander by the name of Dilandau Albatou, no older than that young man standing over there," Folken answered, glancing in Van's direction and looking back at Allen in time enough to study the knight's reaction. Folken's face remained diplomatically stoic, but he laughed inside at Allen's momentary frown. So, he wasn't supposed to have known that his little brother was here, after all. If Van was still as stubborn as always, Folken would bet money that Allen had ordered him to stay out of sight. What lengths would Allen go to in order to keep Van from Folken's mind? How loyal would Allen prove to his country, and therefore to his country's alliances? Folken could not tell if Allen knew or even suspected that the Dragon Slayers had burned down Fanelia, that the very man who stood before him had given the order. Folken hoped that Allen was not so shrewd that he would discover the truth, but, if he did, it would be interesting to see how he would handle the conflict of chivalry that would arise. Would he choose loyalty to his country, or aid to a suffering nation's refugee ruler? 

"How was this young officer lost?" Allen questioned, the concern in his eyes true. Folken could see through false, diplomatic emotions. Allen really did not know for a fact that Zaibach had destroyed Fanelia. Perhaps he suspected, but his beliefs in chivalry had given him a large heart and a special desire to aid the weak and the helpless and the downtrodden. "Did he go missing in battle?" 

Folken shrugged, spreading his organic hand in innocence. "We do not know what happened to him," he lied. Lying came so easily to him, now. "He was aboard our fortress Vione at dawn, but by night he was gone. He simply disappeared. 

"No one simply disappears," Allen told him sagely. 

_That's what you think,_ Folken thought wryly. _You do not know what our machines are capable of._

"A deserter, do you think?" Allen asked. 

"Out of the question," Folken answered, allowing an insulted tone to creep into his voice, sounding to Allen as though he were trying to suppress it. "Commander Albatou is one of our most dedicated soldiers. His family and his very life are the Zaibach Army." 

Allen bowed respectfully. "Forgive me, Strategos, I intended no offense." Folken nodded. 

"It is forgiven." 

Allen straightened. "If I may ask, what do _you_ believe is the most likely cause of Commander Albatou's disappearance?" 

"I really cannot say," Folken replied. "Though it seems ludicrous concerning a soldier of his skill, I have to guess that he was abducted. Security on the Vione is high, and it is unlikely that an outsider would be able to sneak aboard, but there is always the possibility of a traitor among our own ranks. One of the Gray Soldiers, perhaps, the Dragon Slayers are all very loyal to Commander Albatou. More loyal to him than to the Copper Army, I dare say." 

Allen nodded slowly, turning this information around in his head. "What would you have we of the outpost Castelo do?" he asked. "If we can help our allies to find their lost officer in any way, name the means." 

"If there _is_ a betrayer aboard the Vione, we will find him ourselves. You do not need to concern yourselves with that," Folken told him. "We request that the soldiers of the outpost Castelo aid the soldiers of the floating fortress Vione in a search of the surrounding area for Commander Albatou." 

"And I will grant you that request." Allen extended his right hand to Folken, which Folken gripped awkwardly in his left. 

"Forgive me, Sir Allen," he remarked, "for failing to shake your hand properly, but several years ago I received an injury which has left me without the use of my right arm." Better to arouse the knight's sympathy than to startle him with the mechanical arm. Its skeletal appearance frightened and even disturbed many people, and Folken had found it easier to keep it hidden and allow others to think him crippled. 

"Of course." Allen released his hand. Folken glanced at Van out of the corner of his eye. He had not moved. Perhaps, during the search, Folken would be able to find a chance to speak with Van. Would it be wise, to allow him to know that his older brother still lived? Surely Van recognized the Dragon Slayers' guymelefs as the same machines that had burned Fanelia. Would Van hate him? Did Van think that he had abandoned his country? Or would Van still love him? Yes, he would make Van see that what Zaibach did was good, even holy. Perhaps Van would even join them. 

"Could you describe Commander Albatou for us, Strategos?" Allen asked him politely. "I am afraid that, though the name does sound vaguely familiar to me, I cannot bring to mind his face." 

"Then you have no shame, for clearly you have never made his acquaintance. His is not a face easily forgotten, Sir Knight," Folken replied. "He is albino, like myself, and he stands this tall." Folken indicated with his organic hand a height slightly past his shoulder. "If he was kidnapped, he may not be dressed in his uniform. If you find him, you will know him, do not worry about that. He is very distinctive." 

"Very good." Allen motioned, and a dark-haired man in a pink shirt broke away from the crowds of soldiers against the walls. Knight he was not; this was more the type of person that Folken would picture to man this obscure an outpost. 

"Yeah, Boss?" he asked. 

"Gaddes, divide the men into search parties," Allen ordered. "We will begin at once, while the sun is still high." 

"Sure." 

"It would be helpful to send a group of your soldiers with each party of ours," Folken suggested mildly. "These forests are new to us." Gaddes glanced at Allen, who nodded. Gaddes turned his back to Folken and Allen. 

"All right, dirtbags!" Gaddes bellowed, "outside, now!" With a steadily rising murmur of voices, the room began to empty. Folken tilted his head to the side. 

"He is not the most traditional of lieutenants, is he?" 

Allen laughed, a charming sound. "No, he is not, but he has a good heart, and he gets the job done. Rules often become a bit lax so far out here, you know how it is." 

Folken thought of Zaibach, where discipline was life and no soldier would dare say "yeah" to his commanding officer (Dilandau excluded). "No," he said, "I cannot say I do." 

Allen coughed. "Pardon me, then." 

Folken looked to Gatti. "You may go. Order the Gray Soldiers down. I want each party of ours to have at least several of Castelo's soldiers in it as guides. We can't have anyone getting lost out there." 

"Yes sir!" Gatti saluted. "All right, Dragon Slayers, let's go!" The Dragon Slayers turned with uniform precision, and filed out of the room. 

Allen watched them go. "They're all very young to be serving in the army," he commented. 

"Perhaps." Folken glanced at Allen. "They are Dilandau's men. Do not be so quick to underestimate them. They are the finest guymelef pilots in our country." 

"I ask your forgiveness again, Strategos." Still, under his breath, Allen murmured, "but they're just children!" 

_Children they may be,_ Folken thought, _but I dare say they are not the cherub-faced innocents whom that word usually describes. Surely there is a better one to fit them. They are young, for certain, but children? They sacrificed their childhoods for the swords they wear now, and have no regrets about it._ He looked again to the wall where he had seen Van standing. His little brother was gone. _I have to find him._ Allen raised his arm, and a snowy-feathered owl fluttered down to grip his forearm in its talons. He smoothed the owl's feathers, speaking to it softly. Folken watched with interest; the bird actually gave off the impression that it was listening to Allen's words. Allen finished, and he threw his arm up; the owl took flight and sailed out the wide, open doors. 

"You can speak to the very animals of the forest, Sir Allen?" Folken questioned. Allen smiled. 

"Hardly. Natal has been with me for a very long time now, and we have developed a certain understanding of each other. I sent him out to look for Commander Albatou. Of course," and Allen shrugged, "he may return with a dead mouse, but he certainly can't hurt anything." 

"No, he will not," Folken agreed, only half-listening. Where had Van gone? Folken gave the wall a cursory scan. More than one door led out of the room. Van had probably exited through one of those; Folken seriously doubted that his little brother would join in the search for Dilandau. 

"We should oversee the search," Allen told him. Folken shook his head slightly. 

"They can handle a simple search on their own." Allen, it seemed, did not share in those sentiments. 

"Perhaps, but I feel I should be out there with them. I _am_ in charge of Castelo and its surrounding lands. If you will, Strategos." Allen motioned for Folken to join him, and started for the large doors. Folken fell into step just behind the knight, and, in the chaos in the doorway of many people trying to pass through one place, Folken slipped out into the hallway. 

Castelo was not nearly as large as the Vione fortress, and its hallways and rooms were easily and sensibly laid out. Though Folken did not know his way, he did not feel lost, as many did on the Vione, and he could have retraced his steps back outside with no problems. With typical Asturian style, walkways wrapped around the outside of the building, and large windows or skylights kept Castelo's inhabitants in areas lit by the sun more than those lit by torches or lamps. The sunlight turned the polished wood a dazzling gold. Folken imagined that this place must be quite beautiful at sunset. Its cheerfulness and serenity were qualities he had not expected to find at a military establishment, though he supposed that its remoteness added a great deal to its calm. 

He directed his steps toward the highest-ceilinged of the buildings. This, surely, was where the guymelefs were stored. The Escaflowne would be in here, if anywhere. Wherever the Escaflowne was, Van was certain to be close by, and with everyone out in the forests searching for Dilandau, none would disturb them. 

Folken pushed open the door. Yes, he had been correct. It was cooler and darker in here, the light coming from windows high up in the walls and the ceiling. Dust motes swirled and danced silently on the sunbeams. It was quiet in here, very quiet. The walls muffled the sounds from the outside so that even his own soft footsteps sounded loud. Castelo's guymelefs sat in rows along the walls; stocky, hardy, heavily armored machines used by the common soldiers that could stand up to rough and unsophisticated handling. Two of the guymelefs, though, stood out as different from the rest. One Folken recognized as the traditional guymelef of Asturia's Knights Caeli- lightly armored, gray in color, with a golden crest on its forehead and a thin, elegant blade. This, no doubt, belonged to Sir Allen Schezar. It was old, but extremely well taken care of, so that it was almost like new. It was probably an heirloom of some kind; Folken didn't know whether these units were handed down through the family in hopes that a son would follow in his father's footsteps, or if they were handed down through the Heavenly Knights themselves. 

The other guymelef was, of course, the Escaflowne. Folken stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to it, and a sense of wonderment filled him. He had never actually laid eyes upon Fanelia's protector god before, though he still knew the stories of it by rote. The Escaflowne was to have been his, had he not failed to slay the dragon. Now Van was its pilot. He felt no resentment toward his brother. It was better, Folken thought, that such a good and holy thing should belong to Van, whose heart was still innocent and pure. His own black heart would probably have corrupted it unforgivably. 

"What are you doing in here?" a voice behind him demanded. "I don't think you'll find your missing soldier in here." Van. His voice had changed with his age, but Folken still recognized it. He kept his eyes on the Escaflowne. 

"This is a beautiful guymelef," Folken commented. Behind him, Van shrugged. 

"It's all right." Trying to conceal its worth from him? He must have figured out that Zaibach hunted him. 

"Surely you underestimate its value," Folken continued. "This must be an Ispano guymelef. I have never seen its like before." 

"It's old," Van told him. Folken suppressed a smile. _Old_ understated the Escaflowne's age considerably. Ancient would hardly begin to describe it. 

"Does this guymelef belong to you?" Folken asked, ascending the stairs calmly, the sword concealed beneath his cloak slapping his leg as he climbed. 

"It's-" Van cut off his sentence abruptly. "What are you doing? Hey, you! Get down from there!" 

"I will not damage your guymelef," Folken assured him. "I merely want a closer look at such a splendid machine." 

"Like hell you do!" Van growled. He dashed up the stairs, and as Folken reached the top platform he darted around to plant himself between the Escaflowne and the Strategos. 

Folken chuckled. Van was still as stubborn and quick to overreact as he had always been. "I told you that I would not harm your guymelef. Why are you so hasty to assume that my word is worthless?" he questioned. 

"Because you serve Zaibach," Van told him, his eyes gleaming with protective defiance. 

"And you assume that every citizen of Zaibach is a liar? What evidence do you make this judgment upon?" Van said nothing. Folken tilted his head to the side. "Does this magnificent guymelef have a name?" he asked. Still Van would not answer him. Folken smiled. "Could this be the legendary white dragon god, Escaflowne?" 

Van's eyes widened in surprise, and he gasped. His expression quickly changed to a frown. "You're a damn liar," he told Folken. "You're not missing a soldier. You're the ones who destroyed Fanelia, and you came here looking for the Escaflowne!" 

Folken drew his sword enough to slit open his finger upon the blade, then pushed it back into the sheath. "I'm afraid that's not entirely true." He stepped up to the Escaflowne. "Commander Albatou is, in fact, missing. We do not know exactly how he vanished, or where he is. In this regard, I am no liar." He lifted his hand to the Escaflowne's heart-stone. The pink crystal was as smooth as still water beneath his palm. A high, ringing noise filled the air; the stone glowed briefly, and the Escaflowne's cockpit opened. 

Van's jaw dropped. "How did you do that?" he demanded, a hand going to the hilt of his sword. "Only a member of the Fanelian royal family can open the Escaflowne! Who are you?" 

Folken lowered his hand and turned to Van. "Who do you think I am? Think back. You know me, Van Slanzar de Fanel." 

Van's brow furrowed. "How do you know my name?" 

"Think," Folken told him simply, "and remember one who once loved you." 

Van stared at him. "No," he whispered, "it can't be. You can't be. You're dead." 

"Dead? Do think your eyes deceive you? Here I stand before you. Touch me, I am real. Who do you think I am?" Folken repeated. Van dropped his arms to his sides. 

"Brother?" Van asked softly. Folken nodded once, slowly. 

  
"Allen!" Hitomi hissed, running up behind the Knight and tugging on his sleeve. "Allen, I have to talk to you!" 

"Hitomi!" Allen caught her arm and pulled her into the shadows around the side of the building, away from the soldiers milling about and dividing themselves up. "What are you doing out here? What if they see you?" 

"I'm sorry!" Hitomi clutched at Allen's sleeves. "Allen, they're the ones who attacked Fanelia! I'm absolutely positive! Those are the same blue giants!" 

Allen frowned. "Ah, I was afraid of that. I wonder what their reason for attacking Fanelia was? Do you know?" 

Hitomi looked to the guymelef storehouse. "They want the Escaflowne. They came looking for it. That's why they're here! They're looking for it! They know it's here!" 

Allen thought a moment. "I don't doubt you if you say that you saw them in Fanelia, Hitomi, but I'm not certain that they're looking for the Escaflowne. The Strategos seemed quite serious that one of their soldiers had gone missing. They're all out in the woods right now, going _away_ from the Escaflowne to look for him." 

"It's a trick!" Hitomi insisted. Allen continued to turn the matter over in his head. 

"You said that a strange pillar of light brought you from Fanelia. How would they have tracked you here? And besides, if they were looking for the Escaflowne, they would have prepared an excuse to get inside the guymelef storehouse." Allen seemed comforted by his conclusions. "I'm certain that this Commander Albatou really has gone missing." 

Hitomi did not share in his sentiments, her eyes wide and worried. "How can you be sure?" 

Allen smiled comfortingly. "You don't need to worry. I won't hand you over to Zaibach. You are a refugee from an attacked country, and it is my duty as a Knight- as a man, even," he corrected himself, "to ensure your safety. We just have to be careful. We don't want to do anything that might endanger our alliance with Zaibach. That will definitely put you and Van in danger. You understand, yes?" He smoothed Hitomi's hair with a gloved hand. "Now, go back inside and keep out of sight until they're gone." Hitomi seemed disappointed and unsatisfied, but she nodded obediently and ran for the nearest door. Allen returned to the sunlight and the soldiers to direct the search, wondering mildly where the Strategos had gone off to. 

  
"Brother? Folken?" Van stood staring at Folken dumbly. "It's really you?" Folken nodded again, pleased that Van had come to this revelation. But Van turned away from him. "No. You can't be my brother. My brother died fighting the dragon. He's dead." In a sense, Van was right. Folken of Fanelia had died. But the Strategos of Zaibach still loved his brother as much as Folken of Fanelia had. 

Folken unfastened his cloak and let it fall to the floor behind him. H shrugged out of the sleeves of his uniform, and quietly unfolded his wings from his back. (Oh, he had not flown in so long!) 

Van started as a white feather drifted past his face. He looked back to Folken in wonder. "You _are_ Folken!" he gasped. 

"Are you certain now?" Folken asked with amusement. He pulled in his wings with a final shower of feathers and pulled one sleeve up over his shoulder. 

"I don't understand, Folken!" Van exclaimed. Folken began to wonder if he should have kept his identity concealed from Van. He had not wanted to see his little brother's face so full of pain and sorrow. "I always thought that you had died fighting the dragon! That you had faced it with courage and fought it until the very end! They all said, 'Folken is a coward! He ran away from the rite of dragon slaying!' But I told them, 'No! Folken will come back! You'll see!'" Folken smiled. Van had tried to stand up for his brother? "Why, Folken?" Van demanded. "Why are you working for Zaibach? _Why?_"

Folken chuckled in spite of himself. It was just so good to see his brother again! All these years he had fretted and worried constantly about Van. Was he well? Was he happy? Did he look forward to his own rite of dragon slaying and the prospects of the crown, or had Folken's failure made him afraid or nervous? And would Folken ever see him again? 

"I don't think it's funny!" Van continued. "Why are you laughing? Why did you destroy Fanelia? Answer me! It's not funny! Stop laughing!" 

Ah, but it _was_ amusing, to see Van so full of questions as always. Folken stooped to retrieve his cloak from the floor. 

"Fanelia was not meant to be destroyed. That it was is regrettable, but Dilandau has a tendency to jerk his leash out of the hand that holds it," Folken replied. 

Van curled his hands into fists. "Regrettable? Just regrettable? You don't even care!" 

But he did care. That was the problem. His associates in Zaibach thought him an emotionless machine, but that was not so. It was not that Folken Lacour de Fanel felt no emotions, but that he did not show them. Perhaps his face had remained passive as he watched the Fanelian cityscape slowly consumed by flames, but his heart still ached with the loss. 

Folken threw his cloak around his shoulders and fastened the spade-shaped button. "You ask so many questions, Van. I do not believe I have the time to answer them all." 

Van's hand went again to the hilt of his sword. In one reckless motion he had the blade out and raised, the edge pressed against Folken's neck. 

"You _will_ answer my questions!" Van growled. Folken watched him with curiosity. 

"You would shed your own brother's blood with the royal sword of Fanelia?" he asked, knowing full well that Van would not. Van was not born to be the cold-blooded killer his older brother was. Van adjusted his grip on the sword shakily. 

"Just start talking!" he ordered. 

Folken shrugged, though he was acutely aware of the metal of the blade cold and heavy against his neck. "I want you to join me, Van," he said. He stopped, taken aback by his own words. He had not intended to say that! He had only fleetingly considered it before! Van knew that Zaibach had burned Fanelia, his pride would never allow him to join with the empire. But, what if he did? What if Folken could make him see? Then Van would willingly give them the Escaflowne, so that their ideal future would no longer be in jeopardy. If he could make Van see that Zaibach's plans were for the good of Gaea, to turn it into a utopia, an Arcadia, a perfect world...More than anything else, he wanted that perfect future for Van. If Van was to join with Zaibach, their plans would be all but secured. But oh, why did his words call such a look of betrayal to his brother's face? 

"Join with you?" Van asked, disbelieving. "Why should I join with Zaibach? With the ones who murdered my country?" 

Folken pushed the blade of the sword away from his neck with two fingers of his mechanical hand. "You must understand, Van, that what we do, we do for the good of all Gaea." 

Van laughed hollowly. "The good of Gaea? How was destroying Fanelia for the good of Gaea?" 

"Put away your sword, Van," Folken told him gently. Van reluctantly sheathed the weapon. "I'm afraid that you could not even begin to understand the workings of our plans. Much of it is confidential, and I could not reveal it to you even if you understood the things I would speak of. I can tell you this, though- we are working for the ideal future of Gaea." 

Again, Van laughed. "There's a lot of different ideas about what an ideal future really is, Brother." Well. Perhaps Van was not so naïve as he had thought. But how to explain this so that Van would understand? 

"Gaea is a world of the sword," Folken began. "We live by the sword. Conflicts are settled by the sword. Do you agree with me?" 

"The sword," Van said stiffly, "or the flame." Folken flinched. "But I understand what you're getting at, so, yes, I agree with you on that." 

"If Zaibach is successful-" and Folken's eyes went to the sword at Van's belt "-we will become a society in which you will never have to draw that sword again. Gaea will be a world of the book, where conflicts can be solved peacefully, if there are any at all. Don't you see? All the fighting will end." 

Van was not buying into it. "How do you plan to achieve all that?" he asked. "By fighting? Fighting to end fighting, Brother?" 

"I suppose so," Folken answered. Van snorted. 

"You're not so wise as you seem. There is no such thing!" 

"Why not?" Folken reached out and seized Van's arm in his mechanical hand. "Why can we not fight for an end to fighting? There are many battles in this world, and not all of them will be won with steel in your hands." Van looked away from Folken. Folken sighed. Van may not sway so easily after all. he was becoming an adult, and a warrior at that. 

"Where is Balgus's little cat-girl?" he asked, hoping to change the subject to a lighter note. "Merle, that was her name, right? The two of you used to be inseparable." 

Van looked up, and he glared Folken in the eye. "She was left behind in Fanelia," he replied, jerking his arm out of Folken's grip. The mechanical hand's nails inadvertently scratched five red lines on his skin. "She's probably dead." 

Dead? No, probably not dead. Folken could not recall the corpse of a cat-girl among the dead he had seen in the ruins. Really, relatively few had lost their lives in the attack. But he could not be certain, and so he said, "I am sorry, Van." 

"You're sorry?" Van turned his back to Folken again. "I don't believe you." 

  
In the room that she had been given, Hitomi sat on her bed and twisted her hands together. Allen didn't believe her! All her instincts told her that Zaibach was looking for the Escaflowne, and she had found that her hunches were usually right. Moreover, she could feel that power inside her getting stronger ever since she had come to this world. Fortunately, she also felt that this lost soldier really was lost, and he seemed to be the top priority. If they found him here, they would take up their search for the Escaflowne again...but if he _wasn't_ here, maybe they would leave, and she and Van would have a chance to escape. Allen had been so kind; she didn't want to put him in danger because of her. 

Hitomi reached into the inside pocket of her blazer and took out her tarot cards. Maybe, if she could locate this Commander Albatou, she could solve all their problems at once. If he was not here, she could direct Zaibach away from Castelo. If he _was_ near here, she could warn Van, and they could escape before the soldiers had time to collect themselves and return to their fortress. 

Hitomi closed her eyes and focused on the description that the Zaibach Strategos had given them. _Albino. Red eyes. White hair._ She knelt on the floor, and one by one placed the cards into the familiar spread. 

That done, Hitomi opened her eyes and studied the cards. _That's odd,_ she thought. _I've never come up with something like this before. These four...are parallels. The Emperor, The Empress. The Magician, The High Priestess. And in the center...The Sun and The Moon are crossed over each other. And here...service, compassion, trust, friendship..._

Hitomi sat back on her heels. This was the hard part of tarot readings- trying to put the big picture together. It was easy enough to figure out the meaning of one card by itself, but that meaning always changed when the card was put in with the others. It was like doing a crossword puzzle- they all built on each other. _These three...The Sun, The Emperor, The Magician...I think they're all one person. And these, The Moon, The Empress, The High Priestess...they're another person. Two parts of a whole...but the parts don't fit together? Two parts...of two separate wholes. I see. It's like yin and yang. They're opposites, they're going to conflict soon. But which one will win?_ Hitomi looked to the other four cards. _Service, compassion, trust, friendship...how do these fit in? Oh, this isn't what I wanted at all!_ She looked over the cards again. _Maybe this isn't two people? Maybe it's two sides of this Dilandau's personality? No, it really feels like it's two people. _

So, which is him? Hitomi reached for the two cards crossed over each other in the center, The Sun and The Moon. _The Sun is gold and fire and light. This is the masculine card. The Moon is silver and water and darkness. It's the feminine one. So, The Sun and the other two cards that go with it must be Commander Albatou._ Maybe, if she focused on this card, it would tell her something. Her hand hovered over the card, with its image of a golden-haired child sitting astride a lion under a bright sky. _Maybe..._

Lightning flashed in Hitomi's mind as her fingers brushed the card, and images surfaced that only her eyes could see. The moon appeared in the sky, though it was the middle of the day, and it crossed over the sun in an eclipse, darkening the world. The lion, its fur a pure, snowy white, ran along the land as though pursued by something. The golden-haired child on its back, face in shadows, cried out and clung to it fiercely, fingers twisted through its curly mane. Two sets of beating paws joined in the flight, and a pair of wolves came up beside the lion. One bared its teeth and growled. The lion tried to dodge, but the wolf leapt at it, sinking sharp teeth into the lion. Down the lion went, and the two tumbled along the ground, flinging the child through the air to roll to a stop. The second wolf trotted to the child, and another shadowed figure jumped lightly from the wolf's back, and it reached a hand toward the child-

-and then the vision ended, leaving Hitomi out-of-breath and shaking. She didn't know what it meant, but part of it was clear enough, and this new feeling of dread that filled her only served to underline it. "Something is coming." That much was certain. She had to tell Van. Something was coming, something terrible, be it Zaibach, or some new foe that had yet to show itself. Hitomi gathered up her tarot cards hastily, shoved them back into her pocket, and dashed for the door. She had last seen Van headed for the guymelef storehouse, and he would probably stay there, guarding the Escaflowne, until the last Zaibach soldier had departed. She would probably find him there. 

  
"Tell me about the young woman you were with, then," Folken suggested, trying to find a topic to continue the conversation. He feared that if he stopped talking, Van would take that opportunity to leave, perhaps forever. 

"What makes you think that girl was with me?" Van asked defensively. "For all you know, she's Allen's new lover, and she happened to be standing by me when you looked over." Folken smiled. 

"I draw that conclusion because you have not denied that she was with you; you only stated that there is a possibility that she is Sir Allen's companion and not yours." Van _hmphed,_ his wind-tangled hair falling in his eyes. 

"Who cares about her? She's just a girl." 

"She's very odd-looking," Folken noted. "She's either a foreigner or a prostitute." That point concerned him greatly. Folken hoped with all his heart that his innocent little brother had not begun to find pleasure in _that_ kind of company. 

"She's a foreigner!" Van retorted immediately, and Folken was greatly relieved. "What kind of person do you think I am?" 

"I do not know," Folken answered quietly. "You are not the same person I left behind in Fanelia ten years ago." 

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided to leave," Van countered. Folken sighed. Van didn't understand. He didn't understand at all. 

"Van!" cried a high-pitched, female voice. "Van!" Folken glanced back over his shoulder. It was that odd young woman. She stopped running abruptly and clapped her hands over her mouth. She must have thought to find Van alone. 

Van ducked around Folken and leaned over the railing. "What's wrong, Hitomi?" he called. Hitomi. So, that was the girl's name. Folken had never heard its like before. 

She opened her mouth to reply, but cut off as the pink pendant around her neck began to glow. Folken stumbled back as the Escaflowne's heart-gem flared with rose-colored light. What was this? What was going on? The air nearly crackled with Destiny, like the charged atmosphere during a storm of thunder. A circle of white opened at the girl's feet, and a pillar of white light shot to the heavens. The girl began to rise. "Van!" she shrieked. Folken's eyes widened. This was not the Sorcerers' doing, he could feel it. Zaibach's machines had _not_ created that pillar of light! 

"Hitomi!" Van shouted, "Hitomi!" 

The pillar of light dissolved, taking the girl away with it. 

Van whirled on Folken. "What have you done?" he demanded. "Where did you take Hitomi?" 

But Folken could only stare at the ceiling in shock. "I have done nothing," he answered softly. "Destiny is acting on its own accord." 


	9. Chapter 9: I Drink the Rain

Johnny-Depp-Luv- I can probably update more often now, unless I get the job I applied for and my boss makes me work a whole lot. Because I've gradumacated now! I'M FREEEE!!! UNTIL AUGUSTTTTTTT!!! WHEN I GO TO COLLEGEEEEEE!!!   
Spinereader- Plot outline? turns red Perhaps I SHOULD get around to actually writing that plot outline down...I'm glad the dragon fight turned out well, I was really worried about it. Dragons get slain so often, you have to keep coming up with different ways to do it.  
Sis of the Darkness- No weirder than me. Remember, I'm the one WRITING all this pain for Dilly-chan.   
Kou-Kagerou- Yes, everyone is supposed to be wondering if Hitomi read the cards wrong. (Gasp! Our Hitomi, making a mistake?) Whether she really WAS wrong or not, I'm not telling.   
Koriina- Oops. Sheepish grin I get a little carried away with imagery sometimes. Keep bugging me about it until I get a good balance!   
Zero-no-uta- Arigatou!   
Faraday- Well, I either did really well on my tests, or I missed something important and blew them all. (At least even the AP strategies people were saying "the Microeconomics essays were basically what we expected...except for number three, we have no idea what the heck was going on there.")  
  


**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 9- I Drink the Rain**

  
  
When Dilandau woke, he found himself lying on something much softer than stone. The air felt cool and still and quiet, peacefully so, and for a time he lay there with his eyes closed, enjoying the calm. By the sound of another's soft breathing he knew himself to have a companion, but if whoever it was knew that he had woken, he would probably hear "get back to work" all over again. He had no qualms about playing possum for a bit. He could feel a light blanket covering him to his chest, and he could feel bandages wrapped around his arms and his neck and his feet. He could feel lines of heat down his back, and lines of cold down his arm. 

He opened his eyes. The light in the room came in dim to stimulate rest, with curtains drawn across windows in the black stone to keep the sun from becoming too intense. Instead of straw he had a pallet between himself and the floor, and he found it actually quite comfortable- more so than his own bed back in Zaibach, almost. He could see a number of these stacked in the corner, and only one other across the smallish room actually had an occupant. Dilandau recognized a slave from the day before who had caught the dragon's claw full in the chest, knocking him into a trellis and probably breaking something. So, this must be their hospital ward of sorts. Perhaps they _wouldn't_ expect him to work for a time. A small, shallow bowl that would have fit into the palm of his hand, filled with some sort of green jelly, sat on a wooden tray at his head, along with more rolls of bandages of varying sizes. The jelly gave off a smell somewhere between medicinal and organic, and Dilandau wrinkled his nose but decided that it was not so bad, compared to other smells...like Dopplegangers. 

He lifted a hand and held it up before his face. The bandages went up to his elbow on one arm and all the way over his dragon-bitten shoulder on the other, and they smelled like that green jelly. Someone had taken the time to wrap the narrow strips of gauze around his fingers individually, instead of binding them together like mittens. He reached up and touched his face with his uncovered fingertips. His skin was sticky. It had probably been to hard or inconvenient to try to bandage his face without covering his eyes or his mouth. That green jelly, he decided, must be some sort of burn treatment. He flexed his hands slowly. It hurt to stretch the reddened skin over his knuckles. His feet were not so bad as his arms and face. He sat up slowly and carefully. He had bandages around his waist and chest, too, for the wounds on his back from the overseer Artisan's rod. He had thought himself only bruised before, but he realized as he shifted positions that the man had split open skin. It did not seem like anything too serious, though, just a painful inconvenience. 

The cuts from the dragon's teeth, though, were another matter. He had suffered minor injuries from dragons before, but not from this type of dragon. He pressed a hand against his shoulder. Where the sun had touched him, his skin felt hot even through the gauze, as though with fever. But, where the dragon's teeth had scratched him, his skin was cold. He wondered if he should worry about poison or infection. Shays had probably dealt with dragon bites before, right? And it would be less expensive for him to cure his slaves than to allow them to die, yes? Ah, if dragons' bites were fatal, Shays would not have allowed anyone to waste the time it took to bandage him. He would be fine. 

He thirsted. That thought plagued him next. He had not had anything to drink in a day, probably, or close to it. He had never been so thirsty! He twisted carefully around to view the tray on the floor, and he spied a glass of water mostly full. He took it between his hands and lifted it to his dry lips. Ah, but plain water had never tasted so good before! He drained the glass quickly, wishing he had more but at the same time thankful that he had any at all. Now what? He set the glass on the floor and scanned the room again. Aside from the other slave who had taken a good knocking from the dragon, he was alone. He didn't have anything to do but lay back down and stare at the ceiling. 

He didn't have anything to do? Dilandau had never really found himself in that situation before. In the Zaibach Army, leisure time, just like decent food, made itself available in scarcity, when it chose to appear at all, and he generally felt lazy whenever he _did_ have the chance to take advantage of it.. 

So, Dilandau lay back down, and he stared at the ceiling. It felt nice, for once, to lie here and not have to do _anything._ At the same time he felt those old guilty feelings returning, but he found that he enjoyed having time to waste. He could not fall back asleep, though. He had had enough of that to last him for a good time, and while his body was certainly tired enough, his mind remained wide awake. He considered counting the stones in the ceiling, but cast that thought aside as a waste of time and instead took stock of his situation again. He had not really received any grievous injuries, or at least he didn't think so. He had never heard of anyone dying from sunburn, and while it certainly hurt and restricted his movement, it didn't put him in any sort of health danger. The dragon bite still worried him, but as he could not do anything about it, he decided to ignore it unless it presented more of a danger. If he had believed in any sort of higher deities he would have prayed to them for more water. Perhaps he could blame the burns for his thirst. No, he could blame Shays for forcing him to toil under that hot sun all day without anything to drink. Damn, but he was still thirsty! His mouth could have been stuffed with that gauze wound around his arms. 

Dilandau could have kissed Arias when he opened the door softly, a pitcher of water in one hand. Arias tried to tiptoe to Dilandau, but, finding it hard to accomplish with a limp, sufficed himself with a slow walk, and eased himself to his knees. Before Dilandau could even speak he filled the empty glass. "You should drink a lot," Arias told him. "You're dehydrated." Dilandau did not argue. Arias watched him drain the glass and filled it again. Dilandau set it aside, though, and held up his bandaged hands. 

"Did you do this?" Arias nodded, and scraped his hair back behind his ears. "Is there anything you don't do around here? You're everywhere." Arias shrugged. 

"I do what I can. It's better that I do it than someone else who could be out in the vineyard, doing something more useful." Arias set the pitcher down carefully with a dull thunk on the stone floor. "Did you really kill the mountain dragon that came down?" he asked, awe in his voice and his eyes, the same that Dilandau had once seen in the eyes of his Dragon Slayers when they met the famous Dilandau Albatou for the first time. 

"Damn right I did," Dilandau answered with pride, tossing his head. "It wasn't the first dragon I've killed, but it was the first mountain dragon. We don't have those where I come from." 

"What kinds of dragons do you have?" Arias asked. "We don't have any _but_ mountain dragons." 

"Oh, land dragons, sea dragons." Dilandau leaned back on his hands. "They say that fire dragons live near the volcano on the farthest of my country's borders, but I've never seen any." 

Arias drew his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. "Your country must be so very different from mine. I wish I could see it someday." 

"Yeah, well, it's going to be hard enough to get myself out of here, much less take you with me. Sorry." No t that he really felt sorry; Dilandau Albatou looked out for himself first. He never felt any guilt about his frame of mind-by looking out for himself, he also looked out for his Dragon Slayers by default, due to his position as their leader. 

"Oh, no!" Arias's tone told Dilandau that his words had been misunderstood. "I could never try to leave! The masters have done so much for me, it would be ungrateful and selfish for me to try to run away! I just meant that it would be interesting to see your country someday. You're so different from the rest of us, Dilandau." 

"You've got that right." Dilandau held out his arms in front of him, his fingers half-curled, in the way that he would hold his sword. "I'm a soldier, not a damn grape-picker. I don't belong here." 

"I never said that you didn't belong here," Arias corrected softly. Dilandau could not think of how to reply to that, and so he said nothing. He did not think that he wanted to fit in here. To do so would mean to lose his past as a Dragon Slayer to his future as a slave, and to give up hope of ever seeing Zaibach again, would it not? 

"Well, what do I do now?" he asked. "Back out to the vineyard again for another day of dehydrating and burning my skin off?" 

As if reminded of that, Arias picked up the glass and held it out to Dilandau again, his eyes urging, _drink._ "Of course not! Master Shays wouldn't put you back out there again. You can't handle the sun, so you can't work outside like that." 

"So he'll put me inside, then?" Dilandau paused to take a drink of the sweet water. "Scrubbing floors or something?" 

"Probably." Arias considered it. "No, I'll bet he has you crushing the grapes. If you can kill a dragon, you've definitely got the energy for it." 

"Wonderful," Dilandau muttered sarcastically. He wondered how these people accomplished the crushing of grapes. In Asturia it was done by hopping up and down in tubs full of the fruit. That was the downside of Asturian vino; he enjoyed it more than any of the other wines he had tested, but when he drank it he had to stolidly forget that someone's feet had been in it. 

"But not yet," Arias continued. "Not yet, he'll wait for your burns and the dragon bite and the lashes to heal. You can't possibly work at your full capacity right now." 

Well, thank goodness for _that!_ He already knew that Shays had the stupidity to put an albino out all day under the sun, but at least he did have the good sense to take the albino back out of the sun. "What do I do until then?" He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but he did not know if he would be allowed to do it. 

Arias blinked, as if he did not understand the question. "Do?" he asked. "Rest, and heal quickly. And drink water," he laughed, lifting the pitcher again and refilling Dilandau's half-empty glass. 

"No!" Dilandau shook his head. "I mean, besides _that!_"

"Really, Dilandau, you run through life! Do you always have to be doing something? Even _we_ are allowed time to do nothing!" Arias spread his hands. "Slow down, Dilandau, and relax!" 

"You forget that I was brought up to believe that he who lays around in bed when he is capable of getting up is unforgivably lazy." Dilandau pointed to his blistered face with a gauze-wrapped finger. "I'm _sunburned_, for goodness' sake, I'm not an invalid!" 

"Well..." Arias thought a moment. "Do whatever you want, I suppose, within reason. The faster you get used to living here, the easier life will be for you, and the masters would probably appreciate it. I don't know. Your time is yours for now. Do you need anything?" 

"Yeah," Dilandau snorted, "my armor and my sword and my guymelef, so I can get out of here." 

Arias shook his head. "I don't think that Master Shays would let me give you those." 

Dilandau sighed. Arias didn't understand sarcasm at all. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Arias smiled. "Well, good, then! There's shoes by the door if you want to go outside. If you don't wear them you'll tear up the bandages on your feet. And, speaking of that-" Arias picked up one of the rolls of gauze "-I didn't want to do this until you were awake. It's scared a few people before, waking up with things on their faces." Pushing Dilandau's bangs back from his forehead, Arias carefully wound the gauze around Dilandau's head, leaving his mouth and eyes bare but protecting his burned face. "There. Don't forget to drink lots of water." Arias pushed himself up to his feet and limped out of the room. 

Dilandau downed the glass of water and stood, throwing the light blanket around his shoulders. It seemed he _would_ have enough time alone to do what he wanted. He needed to venture outside again, and he did _not_ plan to do it without protection from the sun, though all this gauze would provide a fairly decent shield on its own. 

At the doorway, he examined the shoes. He hesitated to actually call them _shoes_, they were closer to sturdy, leather slippers, just something between his feet and the ground to keep the bandages clean and whole. He put them on and found them strangely uncomfortable. It struck him that, in the past few days, he had become accustomed to going barefoot, and he preferred it now to wearing shoes. Hmm. Well, he supposed, it _was_ more natural for a human to go without shoes. After all, he had been born barefoot. (At least, he thought so. With the Sorcerers' technology, who could know for sure? Hell, he could barely remember his childhood; he could have popped out of a glass tube fully grown and clothed, for all he knew!) With a glance back at the other slave-sound asleep-he pushed open the door and slipped into the hallway. It took him a good amount of time before he managed to find his way outside; he had to stop and actually ask another slave for directions! This castle was too damn big! Again he wondered what one family wanted with all this room. Outside, he pulled the blanket over his head like the hood of a cloak, wrapping it around himself to keep the sun off. Between the blanket and the gauze, he considered himself rather well-protected. The light did not seem bright today, though he still had to keep his gaze down. It was almost as though the sun wished to apologize for burning him, if it was capable of such a thing. He could see dark clouds creeping in on the horizon, sliding along the sky. He would welcome the shade when they came. He turned past the vineyards, circling around them to the forests he had seen on what he assumed to be the edge of the property. He hoped to find today where the boundaries of the Amaryllis land lay, and, more importantly, whether or not he could cross them. 

The forest had turned resplendent shades of gold and orange and red and brown for the autumn season. Dilandau recalled that it was the color of the trees that had first alerted him that he was not in the part of Gaea he had known before. The leaves fluttered down from the trees as he walked past in shimmering showers, increasing with every good gust of wind. They crunched beneath his feet, softer to walk upon than bare ground. The shoes he wore were thin, and he could feel every stone and twig he stepped upon, the cool earth and the warm, decomposing leaves. A brown rabbit, its fluffy tail a flash of white, scrambled to retreat from his line of vision, scattering a pile of fallen leaves. The sheltering branches above him softened the sunlight that came down and changed its colors. Dilandau held up his bandaged hands. Gold. He was made of gold. He walked in a tunnel of calm fire, and it had turned him to gold. 

He pushed aside a curtain of brown moss hanging down from a bough and stepped over a gnarled tree root. The difference between the forest and the vineyard so close by astounded him. Here he found quiet, but it was not the thick, stifling quiet of the castle. This was the light and airy quiet of Nature, which meant that it was always broken by the soft murmurs of the wind, or the rustle of leaves, or a bird's bright song. Usually small noises like that irritated and distracted him, but here he welcomed them and even found some bit of comfort in them. 

He had once overheard Chesta discussing with Migel the luck acquired from the catching of a falling leaf out of the air. What had the little blonde said? For each leaf, a week of good fortune? There was more to it than that, though. A red or orange or yellow leaf would bode well, but to accidentally catch a brown leaf by mistake would bring upon the chaser a week of _ill_ fortune? A maple leaf meant luck with love, an oak leaf with money, an elm with health? No, perhaps it was the oak with love, and the maple with money. Yes, that sounded right, Dilandau had a good memory. 

He leaned against the gnarled trunk of a live oak, whose kind held onto their green foliage throughout even the winter and spread their branches out more than up, and watched the leaves falling like gentle, gilded rain. They even made the same sort of noise as raindrops. He had never really believed in luck, except as produced by Folken's machinery (and even that was questionable). Even still...a little extra help couldn't hurt, could it? 

His fingers made clumsy by the gauze wound around them, Dilandau grabbed at a leaf as it fluttered by his face and missed. He swiped at another, and it danced through his fingers just as he thought he had a grip on it. "Damn things!" he grabbed for another, and a satisfying, brittle crunch rewarded his ears. Grinning, he opened his hand. His smile disappeared. He did not know enough about trees to identify the kind from whence this leaf had come, (and he had crushed it beyond recognition, anyway) but his eyes told him plainly enough of its brown color. "Eh, there's no such thing as luck, anyway," he muttered, and, crushing the leaf in his hands, tried to brush the pieces away. Some fell off on the wind, but most clung stubbornly to the gauze. He shook his hands fiercely, dislodging a few more. "Damn leaves." 

When Dilandau had completed his tedious task of plucking the fragments of leaves from the palms of his hands, he continued on his trek through the forest. He hoped that the Amaryllises did not own too much property. He did not think he would have trouble finding his way back-he had only traveled in one direction-but if he would have to wander for miles to find the edge of their land, he was not certain he could make it back by nightfall; and while he did not consider himself bound by others' schedules, he did not want to find himself caught outside when the sun fell and the temperature with it. 

He had never taken the time to notice the flora and fauna back at home, but most of the plants here seemed to be the same as those back in Asturia or Zaibach. He could even name a few of them, the more common ones whose names could be guessed just by looking at them. Here at the foot of a tree the air around a patch of foliage reeked of wild onion. Over there was a sizable amount of poison ivy, which he had taught himself to automatically identify after discovering that he was highly allergic to it. A grackle squawked at him from high in a tree, recognizable by the fact that, out of all birds, it had the ugliest cry he had ever heard. 

Of course, there were also the plants and animals he had never seen in his entire life. A vine as thick as his thumb, turned red for the season but with thorns of a very vivid purple, wrapped around the trunk of a tree as though devouring it. A blue and black patterned butterfly lighted on a spot the vine had not claimed, methodically opening and closing wings the size of his hand. A six-legged mouse darted over his foot to be snatched up by a four-winged, cloud-white bird of prey swooping by. 

Dilandau did not know how far he had walked before he heard water running. Further pursuit of the sound brought him to a small creek streaming through a bed of white stones. Had he stepped in it, the water would not have even covered his ankles. Yellow-green moss grew on everything, lit up dazzlingly by the filtered sun. How convenient, he was just beginning to get thirsty again. Dilandau knelt and drank from the creek, then looked up and traced the water's path with his eyes. It wound away through the trees both ways before he could see a change in it-a widening, a narrowing, a change in direction, an end. He stood. Well, he shouldn't have any trouble crossing it. He could step right over it. 

Dilandau had intended to place his foot on the other bank of the stream, but instead he stepped down in the middle with a splash. Whatever. He must have slipped. He didn't mind wet feet. He lifted his other foot to complete the crossing. 

And there he stood, poised on one leg like a sort of pale flamingo. He couldn't move forward. He just couldn't. He could move back, but his body would not obey his command to cross. 

"Damn," he scowled. "Is this the border?" He lifted his arms as though to press his hands against a window. He could lift them, but he could not extend them. 

Dilandau backed away, took a running start, and hurled himself at the creek. At the last second he caught himself and stumbled, tumbling into the water with a great splash. 

"Shit!" He snatched up a smooth rock and hurled it in frustration, watched it sail away to land so easily where he could not. The creek, suddenly faced with a blockage in its normal path, flowed around him. 

He wanted to kill something. He wanted to burn something, to destroy something, to release his frustration. He had expected a fence or a wall of some sort. No matter how strong or high, he could surmount a fence or a wall. But this...Shays and his damn destiny tricks! He couldn't get around this! No wonder Shays never worried about one of his slaves escaping! 

The sound of the heavens rending open filled the air, and white light filled his vision. He knew that sound, he knew that light. _Am I going home?_ He jumped to his feet and lifted his face to the sky, waiting for the light to lift him from the ground. 

It didn't happen. 

_No!_

"Oh, no, where am I now?" spoke a woman's voice behind him. No, not even a woman's voice, a young girl's high voice. Dilandau whirled around. If the light had brought someone here, why had it not vanished? He couldn't see anything besides that white light! 

"Is someone there?" he demanded. 

"Yes," the voice answered. He heard footsteps muffled by the moss. "Where am I?" the girl asked him. 

Dilandau paused. "You don't know? You're not one of the slaves?" 

"No." She could be lying to him, but her voice sounded genuinely confused. Who was this? He did not recognize her voice. Had Folken sent someone to bring him home? 

"Did Folken send you?" he asked. No reply. "Well? Are you deaf?" 

"I shook my head," she told him. 

"Well, how am I supposed to see that?" he snapped. "Was I supposed to listen for your brain rattling around in your skull?" The girl squeaked. 

"I'm sorry! I didn't realize!" 

"Realize what?" Dilandau demanded, planting his hands on his hips. Could she not see the light all around them, or was she purposely ignoring it to frustrate him? 

"Realize that you're blind. I'm sorry, I didn't notice." 

Blind? She thought he was blind? "I'm not blind!" he told her. "This damn light is just too bright!" 

The girl was silent a moment. "What light?" she asked softly. "There's trees and stones and a little creek, but the sunlight isn't any brighter than usual." 

Fear crept through him. "You don't see a white light? That's so bright you can't see anything else?" he asked. 

"No. I mean, there WAS a light, but it went away." 

Oh, no. Oh, no. Dilandau's legs went weak beneath him, and he sunk to his knees in the soft moss. "I can't see," he whispered. "I can't see." 

The girl wasn't paying any attention to him. "Where the heck am I?" she wondered to herself, and he pictured someone turning investigating circles in confusion. Dilandau flung a handful of mud in the direction of her voice. 

"I've gone blind, dammit!" he cried. "Who the hell cares where _you_ are?" 

"Well, excuse me for being scared!" the girl shrieked, and he heard sobbing. 

"Will you shut up?" Dilandau felt about for a stone to throw at her, found the blanket he had dropped, and pulled the dripping cloth around his shoulders. The girl immediately quieted. He stood. "I can still find my way back," he said to himself. "The sun was to my right when I came out. I can feel it on my face, even through these bandages. If I keep it on my left, I'll be able to get back, or at least close enough, and then Shays-" he stopped, realizing the ironic end to his sentence. "Shays will take care of me," he finished. It almost hurt his tongue to speak the words. "The Artisans take care of us Drifters." He laughed, and turned his face to the sky. "Did you plan this one? Did you take away my eyes?" he shouted. "You win this time, Shays! You win!" 

He heard the girl shift nervously. "Will you take me with you?" she asked. "I'm lost, I don't know where I am." How had he known that she would ask him that? Did he really have to drag this woman along with him? 

"I'm not taking you anywhere," he told her. "You're not _my_ responsibility. Of course, I can't stop you from following me, but don't look to me for any help." 

"All right," she agreed. Dilandau heard her move closer to him. he turned so that the sun fell strongest on his left cheek and started walking, his arms stretched out in front of him to feel for obstacles. Almost immediately he tripped over a tree root. He swore under his breath and climbed to his feet. 

He felt a slender, female hand touch his arm. "Let me help you," she told him. Dilandau jerked his arm away. 

"I don't need your help!" he argued. The touch returned. 

"Please? There's a lot of thorny plants around here, and I think some of them might be poisonous." 

And he sighed, because he knew that she was correct. He could walk most of the Vione with his eyes closed, but the prospect of finding his way back even _with_ his eyes concerned him a bit. He had to assume that Shays had done this to him, or maybe that it was an automatic reaction to trying to escape. People didn't up and go blind for no reason. He wondered if all the blind saw nothing but white light. He wondered if it would prove permanent. 

"Fine," he told her. 

"We'll call it payment for helping me find my way," she told him, trying excessively, in his opinion, to cool his temper. She wanted him to like her because he was the only guide she had, and if she made him too angry, he might leave. 

"What's your name?" she asked him as they walked carefully, her hand on his forearm, guiding his steps. 

"Name?" Dilandau snorted. "Why don't you just call me Slave? That's what _he_ calls me. My name isn't important anymore." 

"You're a slave?" she asked. "But, that's terrible!" She sounded shocked. She must be an Artisan, then. Nobody around here thought of the Drifters as _slaves_ very often. Shays seemed to be an exception to that, but only to tongue-lash Dilandau under his control. 

"Right. Pardon me, Mistress. I'm a _Drifter,_" he sneered. "But you don't really care, do you?" 

"But I do!" she argued. 

"Pah! Liar. You're all the same." 

"My name is-" she started hesitantly. 

"Don't tell me what it is! I don't care. And I won't be allowed to call you by it anyway, so why bother?" 

"Sorry," she replied sullenly. 

The thought of trusting someone to show him where to walk did not appeal to Dilandau at all, but he found the girl to be a very good guide. She warned him of stones and roots in his way, steered him around trees, told him when to step up or down and how far to place his foot. Without his eyes to tell him how far they had gone, though, it seemed as though he had walked with her for hours. The air grew cooler, and the heat of the sun on his face faded. 

"Oh, no," the girl mumbled, stopping. "It looks like there's going to be a storm." Dilandau nodded his agreement. He could not see the clouds, but he could smell water in the air. It smelled like rain. 

"What of it? So we'll get wet." Actually, it rained so infrequently in Zaibach, and he spent so much of his time indoors, that Dilandau had never been outside in a storm before, but he assumed that it would not be so bad. 

"Yeah, but I didn't really want to be wet right now. You're already wet." 

"You can't take a little water?" Dilandau taunted. "Afraid you'll melt?" 

Thunder crashed, and the girl yelped and jumped in surprise. Her hand disappeared from his arm. 

"Hey!" Dilandau spread his arms to his sides, feeling for her-for _anything,_ really. "Where did you go?" 

The light in his eyes changed to pink, and he recognized the sound of the sky opening. 

"Hey! My-woah!" the girl shrieked-

-and then her voice faded, and the light faded, and Dilandau could see once again. He dropped his arms as rain began to fall from the dark sky, pattering softly on the leaves above him, and the wind blew cold. 

"She's gone." He shrugged. He didn't care. He could see the end of the trees. 

The rain picked up as he left the trees, quickly soaking him. The corners of the wet blanket slapped against his legs as he walked, and the path turned to mud that sucked off the shoes he had been given. He continued, the mud squishing and slippery beneath his almost-bare feet. 

Once inside the snowflake fence, standing on the slick stones, he stopped and looked up. He had never seen a storm like this before. He liked the way the lightning danced across the clouds, illuminating the sky with a crash like the roar of a dragon. The raindrops seemed fearless to him, plummeting kamikaze from the sky to fall to their deaths. He pulled and plucked at the wet bandages around his head until he had dragged them off and dropped them to the ground with a wet plop into a puddle, letting the drops trace their cool paths down his fevered cheeks. He lifted his hands to the sky. Those had to go to. He unwound the gauze from his arms and abandoned it. The raindrops fell against his skin so gently, despite the noise they made when they landed on stone or metal. They cooled his hot, burned skin and they made the air earthy and damp with the smell of the soil and plants. They tickled as they ran down his skin, washing away the dust and dirt that had collected on his body over the past several days. Why was it so exhilarating to watch these drops of water fall down from above and splash on his upturned face? He had never realized that the sky was so wide before! 

The door before him opened, and Arias, standing still inside, peered out. "Dilandau?" he called. "Come inside! You're soaking wet, you'll get sick!" 

Dilandau closed his eyes, for once in his life filled with a sense of bliss. "I have never before simply stood in the rain, Arias. Have you ever stood in the rain?" 

Arias shook his head, probably confused by Dilandau's actions. "I always try to get out of it. Come inside, Dilandau!'

"No," Dilandau told him distractedly. Arias squinted into the showers. 

"What happened to your arm?" Dilandau looked to him. 

"What's wrong with my arm?" 

"Take a look." 

Dilandau held his arm up to inspect it. In the middle of the red there stood out a spot of white, healed skin in the perfect shape of a hand. The woman had gripped him there to guide him. "Incredible," he murmured, with a distant look in his eyes, as though he only focused half of his attention on the matter. 

Arias leaned out farther. "Dilandau!" 

But Dilandau ignored him, and he stood there, laughing, his arms wide as though to embrace the rain as it fell to cover him. And he threw back his head, and he turned in circles, and he opened his mouth and he drank the rain, and at least until the weather wore itself to nothing he _lived._


	10. Chapter 10: The Search Continues

kanzeyori- Ecstatic? Wow! Thank you!  
No Happy Endings- Pleading voice I'm sorry!!! Please forgive me!!! Bows I'll try to update more often!!  
Phyllis Nodrey- We'll see if I end up with a pairing. I'm glad you like it so far!  
Feye Morgan- Hey, you're back! Yea! Your reviews are always so helpful!  
Zero-no-uta- Thank you!  
Kou-Kagerou- Yeah, the colors were fun to write. The rain, too. I think I got a little carried away with the imagery again. About getting sick when it rains…I've never thought about it that way before, when it DOES rain it's pretty warm here. Arias is worried that Dilandau will get sick 'cause it's an old wives' tale, and he believes old wives.

A/N to everybody: _I'M SOOOOOOORYYYYYY!!!_ Ryuugekitai kneeling bow I'm sorry I haven't updated all summer! Please forgive me! I won't even explain what I've been doing, but I'm sorry!!! Send me e-mails and poke me with sticks if I do it again!  
Okay, on with the story. I'm afraid this chapter isn't that great, it's a lot of minor things that have to happen to get to the cool, plot-building stuff in chapter 11…which I HAVE started on.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 10- The Search Continues**

ooooo

Folken stared at the ceiling as Van continued to shout, "Hitomi! Hitomi!"

"I have never…" Folken lowered his gaze, thoughtful. "Only once before have I ever seen this happen."

Van turned on him. "Seen what happen? What did you do?"

"I? I did nothing." Folken raised his hand in a gesture reminiscent of the pillar of light rising. "What you saw, my brother, was fate."

"Fate!" Van tossed his head. "Right. Fate. You really think I'm that gullible?"

Folken shook his head. "I didn't think you would understand." No, how could he have expected Van to be able to grasp it all so quickly? It had taken him a month to fully understand all of Zaibach's plans, and _he_ had viewed them with an open and eager mind. Was this the way it was to be, then? Would the ideals of two brothers tear Gaea in half?

Not necessarily. Just because Van refused to listen to him now did not mean that Van would always do so. Folken had given Van a lot to think about this day, and he shock that Van's elder brother still lived had probably not even hit yet. Everything Van had learned today would continue to sit in the back of his mind, and perhaps it would change him. _Either I make you one of us, or I destroy you, Brother, and destroying you is something I cannot do._

Folken glanced at the Escaflowne. Search for Dilandau, but keep his eyes open for the Dragon, Dornkirk had said. But if they took the Escaflowne now, Van would never come to Zaibach save to take it back, and Folken was certain that the Escaflowne would prove more useful if it had Van to pilot it. For the time being, it would stay here.

"My offer for you to join us remains extended, should you care to accept it in the future," Folken said. Van gave no reply. Folken turned and descended the steps from the Escaflowne's platform.

"Brother!" Van shouted, "where are you going now?" Folken paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"I return to my fortress to direct the search for Commander Albatou," Folken told him. Van rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.

"And to direct a few of your soldiers to search in here and to take the Escaflowne?"

"Commander Albatou is our tool with which to find the Dragon. Without him, how can we even begin to find the Escaflowne?" _Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, Van? We're not coming after you yet, not until we have Dilandau back._ Folken lowered his gaze with a quiet sigh, and he swept out of the guymelef storehouse.

Van stared at the spot where his brother had just stood, and his face softened. "Folken…"

ooooo

Allen folded his arms and watched with satisfaction as the last of the search parties disappeared into the forest. The lumbering footsteps of Castelo's guymelefs shook the ground, but it was the high-pitched whine from Zaibach's—Alseides units, they called them?—that vibrated the leaves on the trees. It was a shame that the king had not included the sharing of technology in Asturia's treaty with Zaibach. The rest of Gaea had so much to learn from them.

And, speaking of Zaibach, where had the Strategos gone off to? Allen could not picture him combing through the woods on foot with the common soldiers. Returned to his floating fortress, then? Perhaps Zaibach had some sort of wondrous instrument that might detect Commander Albatou from the sky? No, Allen had not seen any ship return to the fortress.

Out of the corner of his eye Allen spied a flash of black, and turned his head in time to see the Strategos emerge from the guymelef storehouse. No! What had he been doing in there? Surely he had seen the Escaflowne! Though all of Castelo's soldiers were out in the forest now, a good number of Zaibach's troops sill remained. Did the Strategos come now to signal the attack? Did he carry a naked weapon beneath that cloak, with which to dispatch Castelo's leader now? Allen tensed, at the same time trying to appear casual, in case his fears proved to be rooted in nothing, or if he needed to catch the Strategos off-guard. Spotting him, the Strategos angled his steps to intersect Allen's.

"Sir Allen," he said, nodding his head in greeting. "I must admit, I am unused to such forests and buildings as these. In my attempt to return here, I fear I managed to get myself quite lost," he explained, a note of apology in his voice. "One of your men graciously pointed me in the correct direction."

Well, it sounded like a legitimate excuse, for one who had never been in a forest before. Allen had a hard time believing that the Strategos of Zaibach had never seen a forest, though. "Have you no trees in your country?" Allen questioned, hoping that his curiosity had not come out sounding as sarcasm. The Strategos seemed amused by the inquiry, at least, though he did not smile.

"Certainly we have trees, Sir Allen, but our soil is not very fertile, and they are only half the height of these and must grow twice as thick to support themselves," the Strategos answered, walking up to a tree, laying a hand upon its trunk and gazing up into its branches. "Never will you see more than two or three together, for one exhausts the ground around it enough as it is. If I could wave my hand and change my country by a thought, I would first grow more trees across it."

Allen smiled. How could he have suspected treachery of a man who spoke so passionately about _trees?_ He could see the longing for the spreading, green branches in the Strategos's eyes! He had no way of knowing that Folken's mind had gone back in time to a place not so very long past that had once been called the Emerald of Gaea.

"Tell me more about this Commander Albatou," Allen spoke, sensing that the Strategos had begun to feel more comfortable with his strange surroundings and thereby more likely to open up. "What sort of a man is he? I have heard his name spoken before, yet he is only a commander—his skill must be amazing, for tales of him to reach this far."

A smile tugged at the corner of the Strategos's mouth. "What sort of man is he? I have described him to you physically; do you have a scale and a chart upon which you rate men, Sir Knight?"

Allen blinked and tried to consider how to answer the question. What a deep thinker Zaibach had to lead it! The man could turn anything into philosophy!

"That's not what I meant at all, Strategos," Allen replied. "I merely wish to know more of this man."

The Strategos left the tree and returned to Allen with his mysterious, gliding walk and inaudible footsteps. "He is no man at all," the Strategos told him. "He is a boy whom we have transformed into a man. He is more filled with life than any I have ever met, and he channels it into everything he does. It shines from his eyes and it flows from his sword, and that is why you have heard his name, be he only a commander. I know not what he loves, and I am not even certain that it is his country which holds him so enthralled." The Strategos cast a glance back over his shoulder at Allen. "Whatever it is, he would give his life for it. Such is the one we seek; I am grateful to call him my ally instead of my enemy." The Strategos tilted his head. "I return to my fortress, Sir Knight. On behalf of the Zaibach Empire, I thank you again for your aid." He stepped up, and a black door slid down between them, and after a moment the small airship rose gently into the sky to return its passenger to the Vione.

Allen sighed. If someone had told him that the word "enigma" had been invented to describe that man, he would not have hesitated to believe it. He turned—

--and nearly tripped over the young man planted behind him. "Van!" he gasped, catching himself before he knocked Van over. "By Jichia, why do you stand so close?"

"I wanted your undivided attention," Van answered, blunt, short, and straightforward as usual. Had he been born with that scowl upon his face? Allen hadn't seen it leave, yet—but, then, Van had watched his entire country burn to the ground only a few days before.

"Well, you have it. What's wrong?" Allen pushed a gloved hand back through his hair. "No, let me rephrase that. What _new_ is wrong?" He had no desire to hear a list of every complaint Van could bring to mind and how each of those somehow linked back to the Zaibach Empire.

"Hitomi is gone," Van told him. Allen started. Now, _that_ was a problem. Allen glanced about, then gestured for Van to follow him and strode briskly to the guymelef storehouse. He closed the door behind Van.

"What do you mean, Hitomi is gone?" Allen questioned, his voice soft to complicate eavesdropping. "Was she kidnapped? Did she run away? 'Gone' doesn't tell me much." Van gritted his teeth, glaring Allen straight in the eye.

"If she had been kidnapped, I would have said 'Hitomi was kidnapped.' If she ran away, I would have said 'Hitomi ran away.' She's _gone_, Allen, gone! The same pillar of light that took us away from Fanelia picked her up!"

Allen gripped Van by the shoulders. "You're certain, Van?" Van shrugged him off.

"That pillar of light isn't really something you mistake for something else. It picked her up, just like it did before." Van clenched a fist. "And I'd bet everything I have that Zaibach was behind it!" Allen heaved a great sigh of exasperation and clamped down upon the urge to roll his eyes and throw his arms up in the air. Such behavior did not accord with the code of conduct of the Heavenly Knights—maybe in casual companionship, but not when addressing a king, even a king such as this.

"Zaibach again!" he exclaimed, "Zaibach again! You have an obsession, Van, do you know that? How could the Zaibach Empire possibly have created a pillar of light to spirit people away? Explain that to me, and I might consider your claims!"

Van set his jaw in that stubborn expression Allen had begun to recognize, the one that meant he would back down for no man. "How did they create guymelefs that can become invisible?" he countered.

He backed his unproven arguments with more unproven arguments? "We do not know that it was Zaibach that attacked your country, Van, remember that," Allen reminded him, calm returning to his voice.

Van took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and after he let it out slowly, the fires had cooled in the muddy-amber orbs. "Zaibach has many wondrous technologies," he said with what sounded to Allen as forced calm. "I've never seen guymelefs fly like theirs can. I've seen them in battle—or, rather, I _haven't_ seen them—and I've never seen anything like it before. Their weapons are amazing. If they can make their guymelefs fly, they can probably make them disappear too, and if they can make guymelefs that can fly and disappear, I doubt it would be hard for them to create a pillar of light."

Van watched and waited for Allen's reply, and the Knight mulled over his statements. When Van bothered to take the time to think things over and lay them out clearly, he could come up with some surprisingly bright and solid arguments. Allen nodded slowly. "You have a point," he admitted. He took Van by the shoulders, to ensure that he held the young man's full attention. "But we cannot act upon those points until we _know_ that Zaibach is behind these strange events, and we cannot hold Zaibach responsible until we have solid, unquestionable proof. Do you understand why I'm saying this? You wouldn't want to endanger my country as well, would you?"

With those words, Van seemed to wilt. "No, I wouldn't," he agreed. "I'll let it go for now, then, but I will not drop it!"

"That will do," Allen told him. Van nodded, his face a mask of reluctance.

"But we still have to do something about Hitomi. We have to find her, we can't just leave her out there!

"What do you want me to do, Van?" Allen questioned. "We don't even know where to start looking; we can't try to carry out a search for Hitomi and Commander Albatou at the same time."

"You say that you can't do it, but you may just have to find a way!"

Allen opened his mouth to reply, but a brilliant flash of white from behind the both of them saved him from the need to come up with a solution that would satisfy both Van and himself. They turned in time to see a pillar of light dissolve and fade, leaving behind a stunned Hitomi whose dripping clothes and plaster hair made puddles on the packed-dirt floor.

"Hitomi!" Allen exclaimed, and he rushed to her side immediately. "Good heavens, Hitomi, where have you been, you're soaked to the bone!" Hitomi shivered, hugging herself for warmth, for though the air was not cold, wet clothes had a chilling factor.

"I-I don't know," she answered, looking up at him. "I was in a forest—it reminded me a little bit of Fanelia."

"Fanelia?" Van asked, joining them. Hitomi nodded.

"It was a big forest, and it was autumn there."

"_Autumn?_" Van screwed up his face. "It's not autumn, it's summertime!"

"Well, I know it's summertime _here_", Hitomi retorted, "but it was autumn _there!_ The leaves were turning colors, and-"

Hitomi gasped as a bolt of lightning flashed in her mind, and images swirled to vivid life. The Zaibach guymelefs, the invisible giants she had seen in Fanelia, marched across a burning ruin that she could just recognize as Castelo. Fifteen voices whispered, some with triumph, others with worry, but their words she could not discern. The wind blew hot, then cold, until all ground to a stop like an unwound clock. The shadow of a dragon flitted across the ground from overhead, and a great roar broke through the still air. The ground beneath her shattered, and she fell, all around her going black as she screamed. A burst of white pierced the darkness, and an angel swooped down from the heavens, stretching out a well-muscled arm to catch her hand with a shadowed smile…

Hitomi swayed, her eyes half-lidded, and toppled. "Hitomi!" Allen gasped, catching her and lowering her gently to the ground. He pressed a hand to her forehead. Even through his glove, he could feel the heat upon his fingers. "She has a bad fever," he observed, looking up at Van. How had Hitomi gotten so ill without anyone noticing? Wherever the pillar of light had taken her, did she catch some mysterious malady there? Allen lifted her as easily as a child-for she was but a child.

"Do you have a healer?" Van questioned. Allen shook his head.

"Castelo is too small for Asturia to send her a resident healer. I will care for Hitomi." Van frowned.

"Do you know how to do that?" he asked, doubt's suspicious notes ringing clearing his tone.

"Of course. I used to care for my sister all the time," Allen answered, turning to leave. "And keep yourself out of trouble, Van!" he called back over his shoulder.

Van watched the back door swing shut, and he rested a hand on his hip. "Keep myself out of trouble!" he snorted.

ooooo

When Hitomi's eyes flickered open, the first thing she saw was the back of Allen's head, his golden hair shining with the golden light of the sunset that poured in through the window. She heard water splashing, as though in a fountain—though she could see a basin past his elbow on the table—and he turned around, a damp cloth in his hands. "Ah, you're awake!" he exclaimed, folding the cloth neatly and pressing it to her forehead. Hitomi glanced from the cloth to the blankets that covered her and suppressed a giggle. Was he trying to cool her down, or sweat the fever out? She couldn't tell! "You gave us a bit of a scare back there," he continued, shaking droplets of water from his fingers. Hitomi pulled the covers up over her nose sheepishly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't anything you could control." Allen smiled and pulled the blanket back down to uncover her face.

"Okay, I'm not sorry."

"That's better." Allen sat back in his chair. "Where did the pillar of light take you, Hitomi?"

Hitomi shrugged, difficult to accomplish lying down. "We were in a big forest. I don't know where we were; it was pretty, though."

Allen frowned and sat up straighter. "We? There was someone there with you?"

"Yeah," Hitomi answered. "When the light put me down, there was a man there. I think he lived somewhere in the forest."

"I wonder if this pillar of light took Commander Albatou to the same place it took you?" Allen mused. "It would explain his mysterious disappearance; it's hard to kidnap a soldier like the Strategos makes him out to be, and it's hard to run away from a floating fortress. What did this man look like?" Hitomi glanced away.

"I-I had trouble telling. His face and arms and feet were all wrapped in bandages, like he was a leper or something. But he couldn't have been Commander Albatou. He had blonde hair and brown eyes, and he told me that he was a slave there. And he was blind."

"Blind?" Allen seemed to relax. "No, then he couldn't have been Commander Albatou. Allen stared at the wall, thinking for a moment; then he srugged it off and reached out to grasp Hitomi's hand. "I'm just glad we have you back safe, Hitomi."

Hitomi stared out the window at the moon and the Mystic Moon in the sky. "I wonder if my family has noticed I'm gone?"

"I'm sure they have," Allen answered her.

"I wonder if they're worried about me? If they miss me?" Hitomi continued.

"I'm certain they do," Allen assured her. Hitomi looked at him, and after a pause he continued. "When I was young, my little sister was spirited away without a trace. There hasn't been a day yet that I haven't missed and worried about her. So, I'm certain that your family misses you, too." Hitomi blinked inquisitively.

"I didn't know that you had a little sister, Allen."

"Oh, yes." Now it was Allen's turn to gaze out the window at the orange clouds in the pink sky. "She was a darling little thing, with a head full of curls and big, blue eyes. She loved flowers, just like my mother. Mother was such a beautiful woman." Allen looked back to Hitomi. "If my sister is still alive somewhere, she'll be about your age, Hitomi."

_His eyes look so sad,_ Hitomi thought, snuggling down deeper into the blankets. Allen chuckled softly.

"I wonder why I'm telling you about my family? I never talk about my past like this. I must be boring you to death."

"No!" Hitomi exclaimed, sitting up. The cloth fell from her forehead to her lap with a plop. "I mean…" she flushed red, and Allen could not tell whether the color came from embarrassment or fever. "You're not boring. I'm glad that you trust me enough to tell me about your family."

Allen smiled at her comment, and turned his gaze back to the window. Celena had disappeared on a day just like this, with the long grass swaying in the warm breeze, and the sun setting over the mountains and filling the air with a golden light. "Mother was so very beautiful," he said softly.

ooooo

The guymelefs returned to the hangar like blue shadows spewed forth by the black night, and the clanking and clanging of the docking equipment reverberated angrily through the cold room, echoing the angry chatter of the pilots as they emerged from the machines.

"Damn it all again!" exclaimed Dalet, ever the blunt one, tossing his sweat-damp hair back out of his face. He skipped the last rungs of the ladder and dropped to the floor. "Dammit!" he repeated, straightening, planting his hands on his hips, a look of satisfaction on his face upon uttering the profanity.

"Wouldn't surprise me if someone was," Viole observed mournfully, stepping down from his ladder. "Damning us, I mean. This is the second day that we've searched for Lord Dilandau, and nothing!" Dalet nodded, frustration again contorting his momentary calm. He let out a shout of rage and, whirling around, kicked his ladder, the impact of his steel boot putting a dent in the last rung.

"Watch that!" Gatti called over, "if we damage any more equipment we're paying for it ourselves, remember?" Dalet scowled.

"When did that start?"

"When Lord Folken found out about that railing you and Migel broke and then 'forgot' to report!"

Migel, just now opening his Alseides, snickered. "You have to admit, Gatti, the look on that maid's face was priceless when she leaned against the railing and it just fell off!"

"Needless to say, you got us all in trouble!" Gatti hopped down from his ladder and glanced around. "Hey, has Guimel come back yet? I don't see him—GUIMEL!" he called.

"Help!" Came the muffled reply from one of the Alseides units, "help me! I'm stuck!"

"Not again!" Gatti ascended the ladder to Guimel's guymelef. Taking a moment to find his footing, he dug his fingers into the seam of the opening. "You've got to get this fixed, Guimel!"

"I know!"

"I'll pull, you push. Ready? Go!" Gatti braced himself with a foot against the Alseides's shoulder and pulled with all his might on the stuck hatch, and it popped open, knocking him over.

"Yikes!"

"Aieeee!"

Gatti tumbled backwards as Guimel fell forwards, and both landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Migel applauded with vigor.

"Bravo! Bravo! What a landing!" Dalet elbowed him.

"Why are you so happy? Lord Dilandau is missing, and you're cracking jokes! How typical!" Migel held up a finger.

"That's because I've found something almost as good as Lord Dilandau!"

Chesta leaned against the hangar's doorway, looking up at the sky, his cheek pressed to the cold metal. "The wind sounds like it's singing," he said softly. "Can you hear it? It sounds like it's singing." Gatti joined him at the edge and listened. True enough, he almost thought he could hear a soft voice in the whistling air. _La, ra, la, ra, la, ra,_ over and over. Gatti looked up.

"There's a balcony right over us, Chess. I'll bet there's a maid u there. Narise always sings when she cleans. Gets on my nerves sometimes." Chesta followed Gatti's gaze.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. That does sound like her voice."

Migel clapped his hands, the sound muffled by his gloves. "Everyone, come here! I've got something important to share! Come on, come on!" The Dragon Slayers ceased their milling about and gathered in a circle around Migel.

"Did you find something about Lord Dilandau?" Viole asked, his voice hopeful.

"Unfortunately, no," Migel told him. Every face in the circle fell. "But, guess what I _did_ find?" Dalet pressed his forefingers to his temples, closing his eyes.

"Just a moment, let me use my magical psychic powers to read your mind." He opened his eyes and gave Migel a mild glare, letting his hands fall to his hips. "Just tell us, Migel!"

"Okay, okay!" Migel rubbed his hands together with glee. "While the Castelo soldiers were running around trying to get organized, I sneaked a peek in their guymelef storehouse." Chesta gasped.

"Is that in the bounds of our treaty? What if someone saw you?" Migel waved him off.

"Asturia has already broken our treaty, anyway."

"They have?" Gatti asked, puzzled. "How? What did you find in there?" Migel beckoned them all in close, nearly bouncing with excitement.

"I saw the White Guymelef!" he whispered. The fourteen other Dragon Slayers reeled back."

"The White Guymelef?"

"The one we saw in Fanelia! The one the king pilots!"

"The one that damaged two of our Alseides!" Gatti held up a silencing hand.

"How does that mean that Asturia has broken our treaty?" he questioned.

"They're hiding the White Guymelef from us, right?" Migel reasoned.

"Well…yeah, but how do they know that we want it?"

"They know we're engaged in 'urgent military maneuvers,' they know we're looking for Lord Dilandau and Lord Dilandau is here to find a dragon, so they can put two and two together and figure out that we're looking for a dragon, right?"

"I guess so."

"The White Guymelef _is_ the dragon, Gatti!" Migel finished triumphantly. "In the country of dragons, it and its pilot rule over all the others! It's the head dragon!"

"But, it's not a dragon, it's a guymelef," Guimel pointed out. Migel knocked him in the head.

"Can't you think figuratively?"

Gatti glanced at the ceiling, working through Migel's logic. "I suppose that does make sense…"

"We should capture the dragon and make Lord Dilandau proud when he gets back!" Viole cried, punching a fist in the air.

"Yeah! For Lord Dilandau!" the other boys chorused. Migel looked to Gatti.

"What do you say?" Gatti set his face into an expression of determination, and he smacked a fist into his open palm.

"For Lord Dilandau, we capture the dragon tonight!"

ooooo

Not even an hour later, tree blue Alseides units dropped down silently from the Vione, landed gently, and immediately cloaked themselves. Two would remove the Escaflowne from its place in the guymelef storehouse and carry it back to the floating fortress. The third bore two more Dragon Slayers, carrying one in each hand, and it would serve as passage back up both for the soldiers and their prisoners.

"Don't forget, I'll be waiting by the trees," Chesta whispered, setting Gatti and Migel down on the ground. They nodded, and as Chesta retreated they crept their way to Castelo. Both had taken off their armor—it made too much noise for such stealth missions—and had instead swathed themselves in all black. Too, they had left behind their normal swords, taking instead shorter ones, straight-bladed and single-edged, the sheath and hilt painted dull black.

"Where should we start?" Migel whispered, his voice muffled by the cloth that covered his nose and mouth.

"For one, pick a window that doesn't have light in it," Gatti whispered back, crouching in the shadows and making his way along Castelo's wooden wall.

"This looks as good as any." Migel straightened slowly, raising his head until he could just peer over the sill of the window.

"All clear?"

"All clear."

Migel tested the edge of the window with his gloved fingers, and it swung open easily. "Damn, how careless is that?"

"Good for us, though."

The two slipped into a room with all the trappings of a kitchen around it—pots hanging from the ceiling, dishes stacked on shelves, ovens and stoves freshly swept of coals. A shaft of light from the doorway cut through the darkness, and this they avoided, ducking down low and hiding under a long table.

"Top floors usually house the sleeping quarters," Gatti mused. "We'll probably find him there." He started to move, but Migel caught hold of his sleeve.

"Wait!" he hissed, "there's still a few awake! Wait a minute!" Gatti paused and listened; he could hear footsteps coming their way.

"I'm going to sleep now," a teenaged voice called back, and a pair of brown-booted feet passed the doorway. Gatti and Migel looked at each other and grinned; they knew that voice, they had heard it not so long ago in Fanelia. The king!

They waited until the footsteps had climbed a set of stairs and then followed after Van, keeping a safe distance away, their soft-soled boots making no noise on the wooden floors. True to Gatti's thoughts, he climbed to the third floor, meeting no one, for most had already gone to bed. The door to Van's room swung closed behind him, and Gatti and Migel paused a moment outside it.

"You ready?" Gatti asked. Migel fumbled at a pouch in his belt, pulling out a small flask and a cloth. Yanking the cork out, he wet the cloth thoroughly, wrinkling his nose.

"Phew! This stuff's strong!" he remarked, his eyes tearing.

"Don't inhale too much of it," Gatti warned. Migel grimaced.

"Pah! No worries."

Softly, slowly so as to make no noise, Gatti turned the doorknob and pushed the door open just enough for Migel to slide through. He shut it quickly again, and waited.

Migel crawled along the floor on his fingertips and knees, the wet cloth balled in one fist, holding his breath for fear of keeping quiet. _Where are you?_ He paused, letting his eyes sort through the various items of furnature, picking out the bed and the sleeping form in it. _There you are!_

Migel moved to continue forward, but the sleeping form in the bed sat up. "Who's there?" asked the unmistakable Fanelian voice.

_Damn!_ No time to dally now. Migel gathered his energy and sprang forward, the cloth in one hand, the other drawing the sword on his back. Knocking Van away from his royal sword, Migel slapped the cloth over his mouth and nose, stifling his cry of surprise. He pressed the blade to Van's throat.

"Breathe!" Migel hissed. Van glared at him and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, until the sword drew a thin line of blood on Van's neck. "Breathe!"

The door opened and Migel's head jerked up; sensing that the coast was clear, Gatti had entered. "Gatt!" he whispered, "he can hold his breath like a dolphin-person! Help me out here!" Gatti obliged by drawing back his fist and punching Van in the stomach. The young king gasped—and then his eyelids drooped, and he went limp, and Migel nearly dropped him on the floor. "Damn, he's heavy!" he grunted. Gatti pulled a length of rope from a pouch on his belt and had already begun to tie Van's hands and feet.

By the time they dragged Van's slumbering form out the window and back to Chesta's waiting Crima Claws, the air had grown noticeably cooler. Unusually cool for the summertime, though in their haste they did not notice it; and as they gave the orders to the Vione's pilots to make their escape from Castelo, a fog had begun to settle over the land, piling on top of itself until even the high floating fortress was shrouded in mist. 


	11. Chapter 11: Away, Again, Away

Cala: Wow! I'm glad you like the story so much! (I'm glad you like Jay, too…OCs are always so tricky.)  
Jhaylin: I'm working on updating faster! Arigatou!  
Lady Snow Blood: You'll have to bring a lot of eggs, I live in a dorm now. I'll take that as a compliment!  
Kanzeyori: Arigatou gozaimasu!  
Zero-no-uta: Wow! I'm flattered!  
Equinox: Thank you!

A/N: I'm so ashamed! There's no excuse for my lack of updates this time! (Wait, can I blame it on relationship problems with my former boyfriend?) I'm such a terrible person to keep everyone waiting so long! Not only that, but the last few chapters have been rather lousy, and I'm afraid that this one is no exception. T.T I wonder if everyone has forgotten about this fic by now? For anyone who's still reading, I promise, I am definitely going to see this thing through to the end, no matter how long it takes me! If I've still got your attention, please enjoy!

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 11- Away, Again, Away**

In her sleep, Hitomi shivered. The air had gotten cooler, and it felt good at first on her fevered skin, but now, it was a little _too_ cold. She woke with a jerk, sitting up and throwing off her covers; she grabbed at them and quickly wrapped them back around herself. Her breath clouded like fog in the air. _Why is it so cold?_ She glanced out the window. She could not see outside for the frost that covered it. _What the heck? Is this normal for Gaean weather?_ A sinking feeling in her stomach told her otherwise. _I wonder if Van and Allen have noticed? I'd better tell them! They'll know what's up, what to do!_ She dragged the blanket off her bed and padded down the hallway, still somewhat dizzy, to the room that she knew Allen had given to Van. Every window she passed had the same ice covering, every hallway had the same chill air. She rapped on Van's door. "Van?" she called, "can you hear me?" No response. "Are you even in there, Van?" Nothing. The sinking feeling growing stronger, she pushed the door open all the way. The room held no Van, and ice had frozen the window shut. "Van!" she gasped. Maybe he had just stepped outside to investigate the odd weather, but…

Hitomi turned and ran for the stairs. If Van was still here somewhere, she would find the Escaflowne in its place. He would not leave without it, and none of their enemies would take Van without her!

She threw open the door outside and nearly screamed with shock. A solid layer of ice coated Castelo, save the doors, which remained untouched. The land, the trees, the grass—none of it bore even a flake of snow. _This ice didn't come naturally…it's like a warning._ The blanket dragging across the dry ground behind her, her cold feet starting to go numb, Hitomi dashed to the guymelef storehouse, threw open the door, and quickly shut it behind her.

It was a bit warmer in here, if only for the fact that the walls blocked the wind. Hitomi's eyes roamed across the two rows of guymelefs; she saw Allen standing in his shirtsleeves, staring up at the spot where the Escaflowne had sat. He looked over at her when he heard the door shut. "Hitomi! What are you doing out here, you should be in bed!"

"I couldn't sleep." Hitomi approached him, trying to keep the blanket out of the dirt. "That bad feeling won't go away. It just keeps getting worse."

"I'm not surprised." Allen rubbed his arms for warmth. "It looks like Van's left us."

Hitomi shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I think he was kidnapped."

"By whom?"

Hitomi hesitated. Allen firmly believed that the Zaibach Empire had not attacked Fanelia; she did not know if he would accept her thoughts.

"Well…Zaibach. Who else could it be?"

Allen gave her a small smile. "You've been spending far too much time around Van. We don't have any proof that Zaibach has done anything yet."

"I suppose not…" Something flashed in the back of Hitomi's mind. Danger! Fire! "Watch out, Allen!" Abandoning her blanket, she seized Allen's wrist in both hands and pulled him toward the door.

"Hitomi, what are you-?"

"We've got to get out of here!" To her great relief, Allen heeded the warning, scooping Hitomi and the blanket up in his arms and sprinting for the door. No sooner had they emerged into the chill night than a sharp snap, like the cracking of a whip, split the air, and light shone from cracks in the building's boards. Sheets of water poured from the ice caked on the walls as it melted.

"A bomb?" Hitomi wondered. She didn't think they even had anything like that on Gaea!

Allen gasped. "It's on fire! Scherazade!" He set Hitomi down on her feet and dashed for the building.

"Allen!" Hitomi shouted as he ran in, "what are you doing? You could get killed in there!" _And who the heck is Scherazade?_ "Allen!"

The flames quickly spread; steam rose in cold clouds in the air, and she could see fire licking about the roof now. "_Allen!_"

With the sound of splintering wood and crunching ice, a gray and gold giant broke through the wall of the burning storehouse, its navy blue cloak singed and smoking. Hitomi sighed with relief. _That must be Scherazade! It's another guymellafluf—what was that word they kept using? Guy-whatzit? Guy-something-or-other._

The guymelef dropped down to one knee and opened, revealing Allen strapped down inside. The restraints and controls pulled away, and he jumped down to the ground. Hitomi looked at him questioningly. "I didn't have time to get the doors open," he explained. "The building is lost, anyway." When she still stared at him, he looked up at the gray guymelef. "This is Scherazade, Hitomi," he told her, placing a hand upon its metal skin. "I couldn't let it burn. A Heavenly Knight's guymelef is more precious to him than his sword. Scherazade has been passed down through my family for generations." A brief frown flitted across his face. "Although, my grandfather piloted Scherazade before me. My father was no Knight, he was nothing but a worthless adventurer. He abandoned his family to chase after…" Allen trailed off, flushing slightly—or was it just the fire's light? "What am I doing, standing here talking? We have to get Van back!"

"So, you believe me, then?" Hitomi asked, running after him back to Castelo's main building. Allen nodded, though she could hardly see the motion.

"Only Zaibach could have created a machine that would start a fire like that."

Once inside Castelo's halls, Allen slowed to a brisk walk, rapping on doors as he passed. "I suppose we'll know for sure if we find him on their fortress, won't we?"

"Yeah." Hitomi pulled the retrieved blanket tighter around her shoulders. Half a night of sleep and she had begun to feel a bit better, but the dizziness and chills had started to return.

Allen stopped abruptly, and Hitomi nearly walked into him. "Why aren't the men waking up? Surely nothing has happened to them—Gaddes!" he called. Gaddes leaned around the corner and gave the two a thumbs-up.

"Crusade prepped, Boss! Teo is putting Scherazade aboard, he ought to be done by now!" Allen relaxed visibly. Hitomi swayed on her feet. Crusade? What was the Crusade? Not another guymelef, if Scherazade was on it. Did Allen have a floating fortress stowed away somewhere, like Zaibach? Allen's hand on her back, gently urging her forward, interrupted her thoughts.

"This way, Hitomi," he told her. "You can lie down when we reach the Crusade; you don't look well." Hitomi nodded.

Gaddes threw open a door and led the way down a set of stairs, as though into a cellar. The stairway opened not into a basement, though, but to a small cave hewn from the limestone cliff. Lights strung along the walls cast their illumination upon what Hitomi supposed must be an airship, though it looked vastly different from the vessels that Zaibach had used to transport its soldiers to the ground. Allen guided her across a ramp extending from the rear of the ship, down a series of short hallways to a small, simple room. Allen folded a board out of the wall—a bed, Hitomi realized—and turned to her. "I'm afraid it won't be very comfortable," he apologized, "but it's better than standing up all night. Get some rest, Hitomi, and don't worry; we will get Van back." With those words, Allen disappeared out the doorway, leaving Hitomi standing in the middle of the tiny room, the blanket falling off one shoulder. But, there was something…she had to tell him…

"Allen!" she called. Footsteps came running, and Allen appeared in the doorway.

"What is it?"

"They took Van north," Hitomi told him. Allen frowned.

"How do you know?"

"I don't know…" Hitomi looked away. "I just do." Allen nodded.

"Thank you, Hitomi." He disappeared again.

_He doesn't believe me._ Hitomi sat down on the makeshift bed and leaned back against the wall as the entire ship began to vibrate.

ooooo

Gatti woke in the faint hours of the morning, before the sun had risen, with the unnatural chill that permeated the Vione. It hadn't been this cold when they had thrown their unconscious captive in his cell, had it? Perhaps the fortress's temperature-pressure regulation system had malfunctioned? With Dilandau gone, the job fell to either him or Folken to investigate the problem, and he could not lay around in bed and allow his superiors to waste their time attending to what he could easily have fixed (or, more likely, gotten someone else to fix) himself.

Dressing, he jerked at the handle of his door to pass into the hallway. The door would not budge. "What the-? Damn thing must be stuck!" Grasping the handle in both hands and planting his feet, he pulled with all his might. For his effort, he slipped and bashed his head on his bed before falling completely to the floor without having opened the door a crack. What the hell was going on? His door had broken two years ago; even when locked, he could still force it open. He had already submitted five work orders for its repair this year with no success; no one had fixed it during the past few days' events. He resisted the urge to kick the door. If he broke his toes on it, it would only mean that he was stuck bandaging his foot by himself.

Clanging noises drew his attention to the ceiling, and the cold air that poured from the grate above. Something was up there, something…or someone. Keeping his eye on the grate, he crossed the room to his sword, and left it sheathed but gripped tight the hilt. The clanging grew louder, and then it stopped.

"Gatti?" called a hesitant voice. Gatti relaxed, and let out a sigh of relief.

"Chesta?" He moved under the grate to look up into it. "Is that you?" The little blonde's face, smudged with dust, appeared in the grate.

"Yeah, Gatti, it's me!"

"Well, what are you _doing_ up there?" Gatti asked.

"Let me come down, and I'll tell you!"

Gatti moved aside, and Chesta lifted the grate out of the way, slid out of the hole, hung gripping the edge for a moment, and dropped down to the floor. He straightened, brushing off the sleeves of his pajamas.

"Yeesh, it's dusty in there!" Gatti commented.

"I'll say!" Chesta had fluffy bits of gray dust clinging all over him, even in his hair. He sneezed, shaking a cloud up from his clothes.

Gatti rested a hand on his hip casually, the other still holding his sword. "What were you doing up there, anyway?"

Chesta ceased his dusting of himself and looked up at Gatti. "You'll never believe it. I couldn't get my door to open this morning, so I thought I would climb out through the air vents and try it from the outside—Gatti, the Vione is frozen!"

Gatti blinked. The Vione was frozen? Floating fortresses did not freeze, especially in not in the summertime! Was Chesta feeling all right? "Why don't you tell me what you saw, Chesta?" Chesta nodded and, clasping his hands behind his back, he began pacing the length of the room.

"I put my desk chair on my bed and climbed up into the air duct," he recalled. "I crawled for a bit until I came to a grate. It looked down into the hallway right outside my room. I could barely see out of it because of all the icicles hanging off it. I wondered why it was so cold! I banged on it, and a couple icicles broke off, enough for me to see into the hallway. Sheets of ice, Gatti! It was on the walls, on the floor, as thick as my fist!" He held up a clenched hand for emphasis. "What the heck is going on?"

The Vione, frozen? Gatti sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. "I'm dreaming!" he announced. "This is all a dream! I know you would never lie, Chesta, but it's impossible for the Vione to freeze over like you just said, so, therefore, I'm dreaming!" Chesta stepped solemnly to Gatti's side, took Gatti's wrist in his own hand, and gripped it hard. "Yeowch!" Gatti jerked his arm away and rubbed his wrist. "You really need to cut your fingernails!"

"I know." Chesta sighed. "But I've just proved that you're not dreaming, haven't I?"

"I suppose so."

Chesta dragged Gatti's desk chair over and sat down. "What do we do, Gatti? This is so weird!" Gatti stood, walked to the door, and gave it another tug.

"Well, we can't _do_ anything until we've thawed."

ooooo

Hitomi dozed on and off through the rest of the night, lulled by the vibrations of the moving airship. She was worried about Van, but right now she was just so tired that she did not feel like doing anything but sleeping.

Several large thuds jarred her back to consciousness, and the airship's vibrations slowed. The door eased open, and Allen peered in. "Hitomi? Are you awake?"

"Yeah." Hitomi sat up slowly.

"We've reached the Vione," Allen told her. "We're going to find Van. Whatever you do, don't leave this room. I don't know what we would do if Zaibach took you, too."

"You've got nothing to worry about." Hitomi flopped back down and pulled the blanket over her face to signal to Allen her determination to stay put. Really, she wasn't going anywhere unless someone picked her up! She didn't feel like doing anything but sleeping!

Allen chuckled softly. "Pleasant dreams, Hitomi."

Swords in hand, the men of the Crusade raced across the airship's docking platform and into the open hangar of the Vione, cheering battle cries. Those cheers quickly changed to frantic shouts as they slipped and slid across the thick ice that coated the floor and the walls and made icicles on the ceiling.

"What the hell?" Gaddes exclaimed, jamming the point of his sword into the floor to keep his footing. "I know there's ice on the outside, but what's it doing in here?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it froze while the hangar door was open." Allen tread carefully on the slick surface, arms spread slightly for balance. He stopped, and listened. "Do you hear anything?" The men paused.

"No."

"Not a thing."

"All's quiet."

"Do you think they abandoned the fortress? A decoy or something?" Gaddes wondered. Allen shook his head.

"It would be a costly decoy." He continued cautiously toward a door that had frozen open. "No. I think they're all trapped inside other rooms." He sheathed his sword, and peered down the hallway. Ice covered the walls and hung in icicles from the ceiling, but a strip down the center of the floor remained clear, the perfect width for a man to walk down. "And, if it weren't such an absurd notion, I would think that someone is helping us."

"Witchcraft!" several of the men muttered, drawing symbols in the air to ward against evil. Allen rolled his eyes but did not argue the matter. He jumped down into the clear path—

"Well, let's go!"

—and took off at a sprint.

"Come on, you dirtbags!" Gaddes shouted, "let's go get the kid!" The men of the Crusade slipped to the doorway—some abandoned the attempt to walk altogether and slid gleefully on their knees like children.

Allen's breath clouded from the cold as he ran. He soon lost all sense of direction, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. Doors had stuck open if he needed to go through, or frozen shut if he did not. An almost deathly silence hung in the cold air, broken occasionally by muffled shouts and thumps as the trapped soldiers tried to break free, affirming Allen's suspicions concerning the lack of opposition.

The path finally came to a dead-end, a room filled with grids of metal bars from floor to ceiling. Ice coated all of the cells but one. The ice did not touch the cell that held Van, save to freeze the lock until the metal snapped and fell to the floor.

Allen flung the door open and cut through the ropes that bound Van's hands and feet. "Van." He shook the young king's shoulder. "Van!" Van blinked groggily at Allen, then at the ice around the room.

"Allen? You all came for me—why is everything frozen?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Allen helped Van to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, they didn't hurt me.

"Good. Let's get out of here, then!"

"Wait! We can't leave without Escaflowne!"

Allen gave Van a wry grin. "Have you got a chisel?"

ooooo

Folken's door would not open. He pulled at it with all his might, but it would not budge. He pressed his organic hand flat against the door. Cold—it was cold, like ice. He closed his eyes. Yes, ice. Ice! Somehow, the Vione had been frozen! Everyone was trapped in their rooms—save a handful running through the hallways. Folken frowned. Those were not Vione soldiers, but the men of Castelo. What were _they_ doing here? He let his mind follow them to…Van. What was _Van_ doing here, much less tied up in one of their cells!

Folken clenched his hand into a fist. "How dare you," he said softly. "The last thing we need is to provoke one of our allies!" Accomplishing the Emperor's tasks without losing Asturia's trust would prove tricky enough!

Well, he could not do anything about it. It was already done, and this ice was the final cut that killed the dragon, so to speak. First Dilandau's disappearance, and now this. Odd things like that just did not _happen_—not within days of each other, anyway.

Folken dressed quickly, hunted through his desk for paper and a quill, and scratched out a quick note. _I need your help. May I come?_ He set the quill aside and closed his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. The paper vanished.

Only seconds later, it appeared again, the handwriting under his own different. It said only two words—_Of course_.

Folken smiled slightly. "It's been too long," he said softly. He lifted his face to the ceiling, and white light surrounded him.

ooooo

Back on the Crusade, Hitomi gasped as colors filled her vision.

_In a forest that looked oddly familiar, a young man, a fair-haired man, wandered without a care in the world. Simple folds of soft cloth draped his body, leaving his back bare. Leaves crunched under his sandaled feet._

Another young man, a black-haired young man, laid a hand upon the fair-haired man's shoulder. "What are you doing out here all alone?" the black-haired man asked, laughing.

"Just enjoying the land," the fair-haired man answered. "The forest reminds me of my home."

"Your home?" The black-haired man laughed again. "I thought you told me that your country had no trees."

"I am referring to the country I was born in."

"Ah. Why did you leave your homeland, if you miss the trees so?"

"I already told you. I'm looking for my people."

"You're so secretive! What do you think you have to hide from me?"

"Everything." The pale-haired man pulled away and leaned against a tree, and Hitomi lost sight of the black-haired man. "Everything."

"Who are your people?"

"I can't…" The pale-haired man's voice became strained with emotion. "I can't tell you!"

"Turn around, my friend."

The pale-haired man turned, and his eyes widened, and he fell to his knees…

The vision ended, and Hitomi clutched at her head. "What the heck was that?"

ooooo

The pillar of white light set Folken down outside a huge building made of black stone. The ground was wet and the air damp with fresh rain. He breathed it in deeply with a sigh. He had not visited this place in many years, too many years.

A heavy, wooden door swung open, and out walked a stern man in a long, black cloak, a man whose face was marked with a purple teardrop. His violet eyes took in the new arrival seriously. "So you've come back, Folken."

Folken acknowledged him with a nod. "It's been awhile, Shays."

Shays broke into a wide grin, and he clapped Folken on the shoulder. "It _has_ been a long time, my friend! You haven't graced us with your presence for five years!"

"And I apologize for it," Folken told him. "I meant to come, but plans kept building on plans, until I was involved so deeply that it would have been suspicious for me to take time off."

"At least you've come back to us now." Shays nodded over his shoulder. "My parents will want to know that you're here."

"Of course."

Shays pushed the door back open and they moved inside, talking as they walked.

"What do you want my help with?" Shays asked. "I'll do all that I can."

"One of my country's soldiers has gone missing," Folken explained, "a young man particularly important to our military. I admit that I am a bit rusty, but I could only find a hint of him after hours of dowsing. I was hoping that you would be able to get me into the Bell Tower."

Shays laughed. "A High Artisan of your skill hardly needs me to get him permission to use the Bell Tower."

Folken chuckled. "Let me rephrase it, then. I was hoping that you would help me in my search. It is vital that I locate this young man, and the Seeking Song takes two hands to play."

"Yes, we wouldn't want you to break all the globes, would we? But, as I recall, when you left, you could play it just fine with one hand."

"I told you, I've gotten rusty."

They started up a flight of stairs. "What is this soldier's name?" Shays asked.

"Dilandau Albatou," Folken told him. Shays paused, a foot on the next step.

"Dilandau," he mused, "Dilandau. The name sounds familiar."

"I mentioned him to you on my last visit," Folken ventured. "The child who would be under my command soon."

"The fireball?" Shays questioned.

"Is that how I described him?" Folken smiled. "Yes, that's the one."

"That must be it, then." They turned off the stairs to another hallway. "It's a shame; he sounded like an interesting young man. I would have liked to meet him."

"You'll get your chance once I find him, assuming that he's still alive."

Shays waved a hand back at Folken. "Quiet! I want you to surprise her." Folken nodded.

They stopped at a door, and Shays knocked. "Enter," called Anna's voice. He eased the door open; his mother sat in a chair by a large window, her back to the door, entertaining herself with embroidery.

"We have a visitor, Mother," Shays told her, as Folken crept silently into the room.

"Really?" Anna set her hoop down on a small table at her side. "Who?"

Folken covered her eyes with his organic hand. "You have to guess," he told her.

"Folken!" she gasped, "you've come back!" Folken removed his hand and kissed her cheek.

"It's good to see you again, Mother."

Anna jumped out of her chair to embrace him tightly. "What were you thinking, Folken? You leave us for five years without as much as a letter to let us know that you're still alive! We've been worried sick, do you know that? I hope you've been taking care of yourself!"

"Mother!" Folken sighed—but he smiled, too. It felt nice to be fussed over in such a manner, for once. "I'm fine, really."

"Well, all right, then." Anna released him and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "What brings you back after all this time?"

"My country is facing a minor crisis," Folken told her. "I've come to get Shays's help to rectify the situation."

"I see."

"'Ken!" a voice squeaked with delight behind him. Folken turned to see Shays move aside and allow Jay to stagger into the room. She laughed and spread her arms out to her sides. 'Ken!" Folken caught her around the waist and lifted her clear off the floor, swinging her around in a circle. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. Folken set her back down on her feet and stooped to kiss the top of her head.

"And how have you been, Jay? Have you been a good girl for your brother?"

"'Ken!" she squealed again, beaming. Folken lifted her up and set her down in her mother's chair. She kicked her legs joyfully and twisted around to be able to see Folken as he returned to Shays and Anna. Her face went blank, and she rested her cheek against the back of the chair and stayed frozen in that position, legs extended before her. Folken sighed and patted her head with his organic hand.

"She hasn't gotten any better, has she?" he asked. Shays and Anna both shook their heads.

"Not a bit," Shays told him. Folken stared at Jay for a moment.

"I wish I could take her back to Zaibach with me. We have developed many medicines over the past five years, and all of them could be used by a Drifter. Are, in fact. I wonder if one of them could help her."

"Don't trouble yourself over it. I entered the Violet Order for a reason, as did you." Shays shrugged. "And if you happened to cure her, what would I do with my time?" he laughed. Folken smiled, and they fell awkwardly silent.

"Arias will be pleased to see you again," Anna spoke up. "I sent him to fetch me a new needle; he should return shortly.

"Oh?" Folken brightened. "You still have him here?"

"Unfortunately," Shays muttered, looking away. "I keep trying to persuade Mother that we should get rid of him!"

"Now, Shays!" Anna slapped him in the arm. "You know that I could never bear to get rid of him, and it appalls me that you can stand there and tell me to sell him off without the slightest bit of guilt!"

"Every family has their fair share of skeletons," Folken noted softly. "I'm one of them. I don't see why Arias should be one, though. It's nobody's fault, not even fate's."

"I'd rather not open up _that_ debate again quite yet," Shays told him. "Nor do I want to hear your lectures about _paying_ the Drifters. Give me two days of peace, at least! Arias will be happy to see you; we'll leave it at that."

"Agreed."

Anna smoothed her skirts, gathering her dignity about her again. "I suppose the only reason you returned was this 'mission', Folken?" she questioned. "Or did you finally remember that there are people here who care about what happens to you?"

Folken flushed slightly and hung his head like an embarrassed child caught in the middle of sneaking frogs into his sister's bed. "No, Mother. I'm afraid it was the need for aid for my country that brought me back here again."

"I see." Anna turned to the window, folding her arms in a position that somehow every mother knows. "You're like a son to me, Folken. You're like the son that was stolen from me. We haven't had so much as a letter from you for nearly five years; we didn't even know if you were alive!"

"I'm sorry, Mother," Folken told her. Briefly, he wondered why there were no women in positions of power in Zaibach. Anna was just like his own mother; just a few well-timed, well-placed words had his soul filled with guilt and he, the Strategos of Zaibach, ready and willing to do whatever it took to appease her. Drat that strange power that mothers had! Varie probably could have persuaded General Adelphos to resign his position, if given enough time!

"I suppose you'll be getting whatever it is that you need and leaving, then?" Anna continued, a touch of pain creeping into her voice, and Folken could not discern whether it was true or another, cleverly-designed blow to his conscience.

"That would be the most prudent course," Folken told her. "If left unchecked, the events that are proceeding may very well lead to a state of emergency. Not to mention that I could not tell anyone that I was leaving; likely they'll work themselves into a panic trying to find me. It would be best for my country if I returned as quickly as possible.

"Well, then." Anna waved him off. "I won't delay you any longer. Go on, go about your tasks." She sounded like she would cry at any moment. By the gods! If there was one thing that could break down Folken's resolve, it was watching his mother cry. Anna as not his mother, but she came close enough.

"I suppose I could stay for a few days," he consented. Anna turned back from the window, smiling as thought nothing had ever been wrong.

"That's a good boy! Where is Arias with that needle? Shays, take your sister back to her room, will you?"

"Yes, Mother." Shays lifted Jay from the chair, and she remained grotesquely in the same position, like a life-sized, posed doll. Shays nodded back over his shoulder.

"Come with me to take her back, Folken. We can find Father and Arias after that."

Folken nodded, and the two swept down the hallway.

As they passed one of the open doors that led to the servants' passages, Arias, who had just ascended the stairs, brightened. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "Master Folken has finally come back to visit us again!"

Dilandau's head shot up at the familiar name. "Folken? Did you just say Folken?" He leapt into the hallway, cursing the burns and gauze that still made his movements awkward. He caught a glimpse of the back of Folken's head as Folken and Shays turned a corner. "That _is_ Folken!"

"_Master_ Folken," Arias corrected. "What are you doing up here? You should be resting!"

"I know him!" Dilandau protested. "I know that man, he works for my country!"

"You couldn't possibly know him," Arias objected. "Master Folken is a well-respected High Artisan of the Violet Order, he's not from your country! Not to mention that the last time he visited us was a good five years ago!"

"I know him," Dilandau insisted. "He's…he's the closest thing to a friend that I've ever had. I would know him anywhere." Dilandau shook his head vigorously. "And if he's friends with Shays, he can get me out of this damned hellhole!"

Arias pressed a hand to Dilandau's forehead. "I knew it. You're feverish," he said. "All that running around in the rain made you sick."

"That's my sunburn, you moron," Dilandau muttered. "It's still hot."

"You really need to rest, Dilandau! Go back downstairs!"

"I will not!"

Arias shook his head. "Poor Dilandau. With everything that's been going on lately, it's no wonder you're delirious!" He seized Dilandau's bandaged wrist. "Just let me deliver this needle to Mistress Anna, and then I'll walk you back to the sick room."

"Arias!" Dilandau protested, "I'm not sick! Let me go! Arias!"

In the next hallway, Folken paused. "What is it?" Shays questioned.

"I thought I heard a voice."

"I didn't hear anything." Shays continued walking, and after a moment, Folken shrugged and did the same. 


	12. Chapter 12: Cutting Day

I don't remember: Yeek! Don't die! Here's the next chapter! Performs CPR I'm glad you like it so much!  
Macky: I don't have any plans to bring Merle in. She never really seemed to be very important to Escaflowne's plot. If I find a place for her, then I'll bring her in. Otherwise, let's just assume that she's with the other Fanelian refugees.  
Phyllis Nodrey: Yea! A yam! Eats yam Look, I met your deadline! With weeks to spare! WOW!!  
BlackInque2002: Wow, that's quite a compliment! (Bows) I'm honored! Arigatou!  
Sis of the Darkness: Yes, I think there will be many more chapters. I will NEVER stop writing this story! Except for when it ends…I mean that I will never abandon this story! It WILL be finished!  
Cala: Yes, what IS up with the ice? Grins maliciously Not telling! You'll find out eventually. 

A/N: I was going to make Gwinnett farsighted at first, but since I'm extremely nearsighted, it proved too hard a concept for me to imagine at the moment. I've got a new houseplant—an amaryllis! If the bulb sprouts, I'm gonna name it Shays. (Crosses fingers)  
I'm hoping to make this my first story that breaks a hundred reviews. 'Course, I don't really have any control over that, so…points to review button Please? Pretty please?  
Oh yes, one more thing—ten points and a cyber-muffin to anyone who can guess what Folken's trilogy of fairy tales is. (It's pretty obvious.)

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 12- Cutting Day**

Folken had nearly forgotten about the library. The Amaryllis family was a wealthy one, and one of the oldest in New Atlantis; they could trace their lineage all the way back to the creation of Gaea. They had amassed an impressive number of books on countless topics; some were written in the language of Gaea, some in the language of Atlantis, and some in strange Mystic Moon languages that had taken Folken all of his years in the Mystic Valley to decipher. Some were bound in leather, some in wood, some merely in thick paper. Philosophical theories, biological studies—Folken smiled slightly as he brushed his fingers across the spines of a trilogy of Mystic Moon fairy tales about a king and his quest to save his land. That conglomerate language had been the hardest to learn, but it had been worth every page of study. Dilandau would have enjoyed them, if he could find the patience to sit down and read the books. There were a great many references to a fiery mountain and a burning eye.

Shays gave Folken a small push forward, and he crossed the room to the large table in the center. How many days he had sat here, bathed in the light from the large window, absorbed blissfully in his studies. There were days that he would only stop to eat if someone forced him, only put down the book if Jay wandered in and tried to converse with him loudly in her broken, halting speech. Since his return to Zaibach, he had not the time to waste so carelessly engrossed in the joy of learning for learning's sake.

Folken stood before the man seated at the table, a man whose dark, chin-length hair fell in his face, nearly hiding it, as he leaned over his books. He had not changed much. He still clothed himself in the traditional dress of Atlantis, soft folds of cloth that draped his body and left his back bare.

"What is it, Shays?" the man asked, turning a page. Folken reached out and closed the book with his mechanical hand.

"You've read this one many times before, Father," Folken said softly. "Can't you put it aside and give me a few moments?"

Gwinnett stared at Folken's hand a moment, then looked up, his dark eyes widening in surprise. "Folken!" he gasped, his pleasant face breaking into a wide smile. "Folken, you've come back!" He leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over, and grabbed Folken's hands in his own. "It's certainly been long enough, my dear boy! What brings you back?"

"Business for my country," Folken told Gwinnett with a bow of his head. Gwinnett released Folken's hands.

"But, you will be visiting with us for a few days, yes?" And, without waiting for Folken's reply, "Wonderful! Wonderful!" He busied himself with righting his overturned chair—and a loud crunch filled the air.

"What was that?" Folken questioned, glancing about. Nothing seemed amiss in the room. He recalled, on numerous occasions, birds flying into the library's large window, but they made a different sort of sound. (They went _thunk_, not _crunch_, as he remembered.)

Shays slapped himself in the face with an exasperated sigh. "Not again, Father!"

Folken stooped and retrieved a pair of glasses from the floor, the frames bent, the lenses broken.

"Oh, dear," Gwinnett sighed. "I must have knocked them off the table and set the chair on them." He reached out to take the glasses, but Folken closed them in his hands.

"Let me do it, Father." He focused on the glasses, willing it that they had never been broken. The metal straightened itself out, the pieces of glass fused together, until they were whole once again. He handed them back to Gwinnett. "Here."

Gwinnett held them up to the light. "Ah, thank you! Wonderful job—I think you're even better at it than Shays. Shays, the last time you fixed my glasses for me, you left a crack; you're getting careless."

"I'm in the Violet Order, not the Brown." Shays shook his head. "By the Fates, Father, you're the embarrassment to the family that we can't hide," he muttered. Folken glanced at him.

"Don't say such things, Shays. My father became an embarrassment to his entire country when he married a Draconian woman. Because of that, many people did not realize his true worth until after he died. Don't make a mistake like that."

Shays folded his arms. "You promised me that you would hold off on your moral lectures for at least two days, Folken!"

"Ah, I did, didn't I?" Folken smiled. "Forgive me, then!"

"Oh, I suppose I'll have to, or you'll just leave again." Shays gave Folken a knowing look. "And that's the reason why you can't go to the Bell Tower until we're tired of you. Once you find your soldier, you'll be off before we can even bid you goodbye."

"Hey, now, I have better manners than that." Folken crossed to the large window, gazing out across the autumn-colored vineyards, and the forests beyond them, and the mountains beyond them. "You're going to have to keep me entertained until you get tired of my company, then. Are the trees still as beautiful as I remember?" Even though Zaibach's poor soil was becoming more and more fertile every year, thanks to their technology, they still had no great trees to speak of.

"They're even more beautiful now, which you'd know if you'd come to visit every once in awhile," Shays told him. He flipped open a book that lay on the table, scanned it, and closed it without having read a word on the pages. "But, not right now. We've just had a good rain, and everything is mud. It'll take the shoes right off your feet. My fence-stream has tripled its banks."

"Well, if that's the case—" Folken pulled the trio of fairy tales from the bookshelf and took a chair, propping his feet up on the table. "I'll be in here for the rest of the day."

"You do that, then," Shays laughed. "I, however, still have things to attend to today. I'll see you this evening."

ooooo

"Dilandau?" Dilandau felt a light tapping on his shoulder, and sighed inwardly. Arias had made such a fuss about getting him into bed, and now he was waking Dilandau up again! "Does it hurt when I poke you there?"

"Of course it doesn't, I'm not burned there," Dilandau groaned irritably. For goodness's sake, was that all Arias wanted to know? "What do you want?" He looked up at Arias, who knelt by his side. "I just got to sleep, dammit."

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to get up again," Arias told him. "I forgot that today is Cutting Day."

"Cutting Day?" It didn't sound particularly pleasant, but, considering the nature of their surroundings, it probably had something to do with grape vines. Hadn't Arias mentioned that he had not yet taken care of the rose bushes in the flower garden? Roses needed to be pruned back a good deal, so that they could bloom well in the next season. It surprised Dilandau just how much he was learning about plants, here, and though he pretended to be apathetic, he was secretly proud of himself. Why such a grandiose name, though? "How long is this going to take?"

"Not long," Arias told him. Dilandau threw off his blanket and followed Arias out the door.

"How long is 'not long'?" he asked.

"Five minutes or so," Arias answered. What, did the family only have two rose bushes? "Master Shays is very good at it."

Shays? Why would Shays be cutting back the rose bushes? Shays never did anything but play with his freaky little sister all day, as far as Dilandau could tell. Why weren't they going outside? Did the Amaryllis family have indoor rose bushes too? Dilandau snickered. Indoor rose bushes! What an idea!

He had given up trying to keep track of the hallways when Arias led him into a room bare of any sort of furniture or decoration, save a stool set in the center. Light came from neither torches nor windows; it was somehow simply there. Another one of Shays's destiny tricks. Calantha busied herself with a broom, sweeping up white bits off the floor. Arias greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Where's Master Shays?" Arias asked. Calantha leaned on her broom.

"He had something to take care of. He ought to be back soon."

"Good."

Dilandau folded his arms and leaned against the wall. He couldn't see anything in the room that needed to be clipped, cut, or otherwise severed. Where did the "cutting" in "Cutting Day" come from? There was a pair of silver scissors sitting atop the stool, very sharp-looking scissors, so certainly _something_ was going to get cut. What, was this the day that Shays gave all his slaves haircuts if they wanted one? Dilandau highly doubted it, though it went without saying that Arias could definitely use one, the way his hair was always in his face. What were those white things that Calantha was sweeping into the corner? Dilandau nudged one with his bandaged toe. Pieces of feathers? Were they to be cutting up chickens for dinner? No, that didn't make sense, either; they would need more than a stool and a pair of scissors for that.

The door opened, and Shays swept in, as haughty and annoyingly cool as usual. "You two are the last today, yes?" he questioned, tying his hair back at his neck with a string. Dilandau looked away.

"You're asking us? Guess you aren't so omniscient after all, huh?"

"Watch your mouth, or I'll take off more than I have to," Shays snapped.

"Those two are the last, Master," Calantha told him, answering his question from before. Shays nodded, picking up the scissors.

"One of you, sit down. Let's get this finished."

"Just what are you going to be cutting off with those?" Dilandau asked suspiciously.

"I'll go first," Arias told Dilandau, pulling off his tunic. Dilandau started.

"What are you taking off your clothes for?"

"Calm down, Dilandau, I'm not taking off _all_ my clothes! It's not going to hurt at all!" Arias laughed, sitting on the stool. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and closed his eyes, bowing his head. Wings—white wings, brilliant white wings—unfolded from his back, spouting feathers into the air that drifted to the floor and dissolved.

Dilandau's eyes widened. _Holy fucking shit!_

Brow furrowed in concentration, Shays began to cut away at the tips of Arias's wings. Those pieces did not dissolve, and Calantha swept them into the corner.

Dilandau backed away from Arias, pointing a bandaged finger. "You're a demon!" he gasped.

"What the hell are you raving about?" Shays did not look up from his work, continuing to clip at Arias's wings.

"I wondered why there weren't any Draconians in the Mystic Valley," Dilandau muttered, uncaring as to whether or not the others heard him. "What's the cursed valley without the cursed race to go with it? Damn, I'm such a fool! They've been all around me this entire time!" He pointed to Calantha, then to Shays. "I suppose you two are Draconians too, huh?"

"Of course," Shays answered, in a tone that clearly said 'are you out of your mind?' "What else should we be? Arias, you told me that his recovery was progressing smoothly."

"Forgive me, Master. I thought that it was." Arias hung his head in shame. "He does seem to have some memory problems. Maybe this is something he picked up before you bought him, Master."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Dilandau shouted.

"He just doesn't want to get his wings clipped," Shays murmured. "There's nothing wrong with his head."

Arias looked up at Dilandau. "It's really better if we can't fly," he stated with a nod, fully believing his own words. "If the children see us flying, they'll want to do it, too. The winds out here, close to the mountains, are so unpredictable that it's dangerous for an adult, much less the little ones. They could get tossed into trees and get hurt. We could, too. Everyone's safer this way."

Dilandau wasn't paying any attention to Arias's words. He pressed his back to the wall, surveying the room again. Three Draconians—three opponents—and he was unarmed. The only objects were Calantha's broom, Arias's stool, and Shays's scissors. He could take them down empty-handed, but he preferred a weapon if he could get one. The stool was out—by the time he got Arias off of it, Shays would act. The scissors would prove too hard to wrest out of Shays's hand, and Arias and Calantha would both intervene to protect their owner. That left the broom, then. Fine.

Dilandau eyed Shays, who had returned his attention to Arias's wings. Good. Without warning—why would he give them any sort of warning?—he lunged at Calantha, jerking the broom out of her hands before she could react. The handle cracked squarely in the middle of her forehead, knocking her out cold. Arias yelped, and Dilandau whirled on him next, lashing out with the broom-handle like a spear. Arias evaded by the sheer luck that he had fallen off the stool, pulling in his wings and landing in a clumsy heap on the floor. Overextended, Dilandau stumbled forward, and Shays caught the broom in both hands. A thought, and it vanished. Dilandau grabbed the stool and smashed it up into Shays's chin, sending him reeling, then dove for the dropped scissors on the floor. He threw himself at Shays, holding the scissors like a dagger—and was knocked to the floor as Arias tackled him bodily. "Dammit!" Dilandau shoved Arias off, pinned him to the floor, and buried the scissors in his throat. _One demon down._

Pain lanced through Dilandau's body as Shays regained his wits. He dropped to the floor, curling into a ball. Thousands of burning needles plunged into his flesh, poured poison into his veins, and then broke off. "Bastard!" he gasped, glaring at Shays. "You demon-born son of a bitch!"

Aside from a scathing glance, Shays ignored Dilandau, as he ignored the blood dripping down his neck from his split chin. He jerked the scissors out of Arias's neck and pressed his hands over the wound. Arias gripped Shays's wrist, his eyes pleading. Master! He mouthed. Shays squeezed his eyes shut in concentration.

"Dammit, Arias, you can't die on me! Mother and Father like you too much!" Arias's eyes glazed over, his lips tinted blue. Dilandau failed to notice any of it. He curled his bandaged hands into fists, biting his lip until he tasted blood to keep from crying out. He would _not_ give Shays the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He focused on the pain, focused on it hard, until he thought he could sense the stream of consciousness coming from Shays. Dammit, he would not lose this one! He pushed at Shays with his will, pushed with all his might.

Shays hung his head with defeat. Despite his best efforts, he had only gotten the wound to heal enough to allow Arias to breathe, and even that might not last. The air rattled in Arias's throat, and he managed a weak moan, reading the frustration in Shays's manner. "This is going to take someone from the Cerulean Order to heal," Shays told him. "I can't do it."

Arias pressed his palms together and lifted them to his forehead, begging Shays not to withdraw his efforts. _Don't abandon me, Master!_ his eyes cried.

"What else can I do?" Shays asked him.

_Master Folken,_ Arias mouthed.

"Folken." Shays lifted his head. Folken was not of the Cerulean Order, but his ability to manipulate destiny in general far exceeded Shays's own. Maybe he could finish what Shays had begun. Was Folken still in the library? Shays reached out to him—yes, alone in the library. He sent Arias there with a thought. Surely Folken would know what to do when a bleeding man suddenly appeared before him on the table.

And that left the albino Drifter. Shays could feel him struggling against the pain Shays sent through him—struggling quite well for a Drifter, actually. With another thought, Shays had the albino spread flat on his back, and the bandages disappeared from his arms. Shays knelt over him, shaking with rage. "Remember well this day," he growled. "This is the punishment for those who disobey, the pain of living with an unguided and chaotic destiny." He pressed his palms against the albino's, and trailed his hands down to Dilandau's elbows, smearing Dilandau's arms red. "And this is the blood of your friend, spilled by your own hands. Do not forget either one!"

Dilandau spat in Shays's face, a mix of saliva and blood from his torn lips. Shays did not blink. He could feel Dilandau increase his struggles against Shays's will, mentally thrashing about, and all in vain. A mere Drifter could not break a High Artisan's will.

But Dilandau met Shays's eyes, and, despite his obvious agony, offered up the most disturbing and psychotic grin that Shays had ever seen. Shays's grip on Dilandau's mind grew weaker, fading.

_What? This can't be! He's just a Drifter!_

Shays increased his concentration, but Dilandau continued to push him back, until his will—and his hold on Dilandau—finally snapped.

_How?_

In his last moment of desperation before Dilandau recovered enough to act, Shays did the only thing he could think off—his fist smashed into Dilandau's face, knocking the weakened albino out.

Shays sat back on his heels with a sigh. He had _known_ that this Drifter would prove to be more trouble than he was worth. _Why_ hadn't he just gotten rid of the young man? Nobody would have wanted such a stubborn and ill-tempered servant, but he could have just killed the damn Drifter.

A sudden thought struck him. What if this young man was destined to come here? No. He had brought them nothing but trouble. That couldn't possibly be it.

On an impulse, Shays turned Dilandau onto his stomach and pushed his tunic up to expose his shoulder blades. Shays traced a finger over the pale skin. "He doesn't have any wings. It's no wonder he's bitter. Albino on top of that. If I'd had realized he was so deformed, I never would have bought him." He wondered if that was all that was wrong with the young man. What a waste of his father's money!

He rubbed the back of the hand he had punched Dilandau with. He would have bruised knuckles, at the very least, and Folken would laugh at him later.

Calantha pushed herself up to a sitting position, blinking slowly. "Master?" she asked groggily, "is everything all right? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he told her, standing. She touched the large bruise forming on her forehead and winced. Shays sent a tendril of thought into the wound—just a bruise. She would sport a large bump for some time, but she hadn't received a concussion.

"Is everyone all right, Master?" she asked. "What happened? Where's Arias?"

"Folken is trying to save him," Shays told her. She gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth, tears coming to her eyes.

"He got hurt? What happened?"

"He'll tell you when he's well." _If_ Folken was able to save him. Shays sighed. "You're relieved of your chores for the rest of the day." She wouldn't be able to get anything done in that state; the other women would comfort her.

"Thank you, Master." Calantha bowed to him and ran from the room.

Shays stood over Dilandau. "Now, what to do with you?" Dilandau had not received any more injuries, and the room had no windows. Shays left him on the floor and locked him inside, mentally and with destiny. That would keep him from wrecking any more havoc. Shays would deal with that problem once he had rested.

ooooo

Folken jumped when Arias appeared on the library table, dropping his book to the floor. _What? How?_ Those questions he saved for later; he swept the books aside and bent over Arias. The man had a deep puncture in his throat, only partially healed. Not healed enough. Arias sought Folken's hand, gripping it tight when he found it. _Help_, he mouthed, tears tracing lines from his eyes. _I don't want to die!_

"Relax, Arias," Folken told him, pulling up a chair to kneel on. He had not done this in so long; he hoped he could still remember how. He held his organic hand over the wound—didn't touch Arias, just spread his fingers, and closed his eyes. He reached out for the destiny that flowed through Arias, for the fates he could pull from the air around him. He willed flesh to meld together, for blood vessels to close. Time seemed to crawl, but he knew that it was only an illusion; precious minutes ticked away. Slowly, very slowly, Arias's breathing grew deeper, steadier. Folken felt his concentration slipping, his mind wandering—the mental version of working oneself to exhaustion. He opened his eyes, letting his hand fall to the table. Was it enough? Had he done enough?

The wound still bled, but Folken had healed it enough that Arias's body could finish the job. With another thought—a simpler thought—a bowl of water appeared. Folken cleaned the wound and bandaged it silently, Arias watching him all the while. When he had finished, he rested a light hand on Arias's forehead.

"How does it feel?" Folken asked. "Will you be all right?"

Arias burst into tears, gripping Folken's hand in his and turning onto his side, drawing his knees to his chest. "The gods bless you, Master!" he cried. "The gods bless you! You saved my life!"

Folken smiled. "You'll be all right now, I think."

"I'm afraid to die," Arias continued. "It was cold—there were hands—" He cried out again and squeezed his eyes shut. Folken freed his hand—Arias latched onto the edge of the table—and stroked the younger man's tangled hair.

"You're all right now," he told Arias. "You just need some rest, and you'll be just fine."

"You're so kind, Master Folken." Arias looked up at him. "Please don't tell Master Shays this, but, sometimes I wish you were my master, instead of him."

"Why is that?" Folken asked. He could never take Arias away, as much as he had always liked the man—Shays was all too eager to get rid of Arias, but Gwinnett and Anna had a very good reason not to.

"Master Shays hates me," Arias said. "I'm a waste of his time. He wishes he could get rid of me."

"Why do you say that?" Folken asked.

"He tells me so," Arias answered.

Yes, that sounded like Shays. The man was cheerful enough when he was around other Artisans, but when it came to the Drifters, he had a cruel streak that rivaled the Sorcerers.

"Don't speak anymore," Folken told him. "You aren't healed yet." _You can't do that, Shays, he thought. You can't treat them like this. They're people, too._

"Forgive me, Master."

Folken hated it when they called him Master. During his previous stay, though, he suggested that they call him by his name—or "Lord Folken", if they really insisted—and they had been appalled.

He lifted Arias off the table, carrying him out the library door. "Where are we going, Master?" Arias asked quietly. Folken did not answer. "I can walk, Master. Please, put me down."

"No, you can't," Folken answered. "As soon as I put you down, your legs will give out. We aren't going far."

He carried Arias down to the room he had been given to stay in, and he laid Arias down in the bed. "You'll stay here until you're well," Folken told him. "And if someone tries to move you, you tell them to come to me first. Moreover, _I_ decide when you're well again."

Arias touched the soft pillow in bewilderment, too overwhelmed to speak. This was probably the first time he had even been in a real bed, Folken knew.

"Calantha is my wife now," Arias said finally. Folken smiled. Arias had been courting Calantha, as he recalled, the last time he had visited. "She's pregnant." Oh? Did Shays know that? "I thought that I would never get to see my son…or my daughter…I thought…I thought…"

"Go to sleep," Folken told Arias, laying a hand on Arias's head. "Go to sleep, and your wife will be here when you wake." He channeled the last of his mental energy into Arias, soothing, urging his eyes to shut, his body to relax.

Footsteps stopped in the doorway, and Shays spoke. "What did you bring him in here for, Folken? This is your room."

"It's his now, for the time being." Folken turned to Shays. "Because I know what you'll do with him if I give him to you. You'll take him downstairs and leave him on the floor to rot," he replied icily. Shays pressed his lips together in a thin line, lifting his chin haughtily.

"What I do with him is no business of yours."

"It is now that he's my patient," Folken told him. Calm. He had to remain calm. He hadn't left that stoic diplomacy behind in Zaibach. "If you were a doctor in my country, you wouldn't be allowed to practice long if you treated all your patients like that. You would have your licenses taken away, and you would probably be turned in to the government."

"I am not a citizen of your country," Shays countered. "Nor am I a doctor."

Folken drew himself up to his full height, nearly a head taller than Shays. "I don't know what happened to Arias, but if you want him to recover properly from a wound like that, you're going to have to treat him as more than a possession! Look how his leg turned out, after all. If something like that happens with his throat, he won't survive!"

"Not your lectures again, Folken. I'm not in the Cerulean Order. We work with minds, not bodies!"

"You're not doing a very good job with his mind, either," Folken continued. "You don't tell a man to his face that you hate him, no matter who he is!" Shays set his jaw stubbornly, looking away. "For goodness's sake, Shays, he's your-"

"Don't say it!" Shays interrupted. "Don't say it! I have enough trouble dealing with it without you talking about it!"

Folken fell silent with a sigh. "What happened to you?" he asked, nodding to the dried blood on Shays's neck. Shays touched his split chin gingerly.

"Our new servant. He has a discipline problem that I haven't managed to take care of yet. He attacked me while I was clipping wings. He's the one who injured Arias, too." Folken could feel the destiny in the air shimmer as Shays prepared to repair himself.

"Heal it, and I'll split it open again," he told Shays coolly, curling his metal hand into a fist. "And _I_ know how to throw a punch properly," he added, glancing at Shays's bruised knuckles. _Go ahead and try me,_ his eyes dared. _The old Folken you remember would never strike his friend. I'm a changed man, as are you. The man who betrayed his own country wouldn't even hesitate to punch his friend in the face._ Shays glared at him, but he left the wound as it was. Instead, a damp rag appeared in his hand, and he turned to a mirror on the wall, dabbing at the dried blood.

"We didn't fight like this when we were still in school, did we?" Shays asked quietly. Folken shook his head.

"We were too naïve to care about any of these things." How the times had changed them! It was enough to make him feel like an old man!

"I wish I could go back to that time," Shays told him. "I would go back in a heartbeat, if I could."

"I wouldn't." Folken arranged Arias more comfortably in the bed, straightening his legs and draping the blankets over him. "I was helpless and useless back then. All I was really good at was swinging a sword." He flexed his mechanical arm. "And even then."

"At least you're doing something useful!" Shays tossed the rag down in frustration. "If I can't even help my own sister, how am I going to help anyone else? How can I get anyone else to trust in me enough to come to me, instead of another member of the Violet Order?"

"Have you offered your services?" Folken asked pointedly. Shays folded his arms, fingering the tear in his chin.

"No."

Folken stared at Shays a moment. "Grow a spine," he said finally, turning for the door.

Shays chased after Folken, black cloak flapping behind him as he ran down the hallway. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded. "Hey! What do you mean by that, Folken?"

Folken held his cloak out of the way to avoid tripping over it as he descended the stairs. "You're afraid, Shays," he replied. He possessed a certain empathy that had aided him greatly in his diplomatic dealings for Zaibach; he knew, without a doubt, that his assertions were correct. "You're afraid of the Drifters, because you know that I'm right about them. You're afraid of Arias, because of what he makes you remember every time you see him. You're afraid of Jay, because she embodies your failure."

"That's not true!" Shays protested. Folken continued.

"You're even afraid of me. My ideas contradict the ones you grew up with, but you know I'm right. You know that I'm stronger, and that if I wanted, I could break you."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that!"

"And last," Folken finished, stopping, "you're afraid of yourself, and your own power. You're never going to accomplish anything because you're too afraid you'll fail."

Shays stopped several paces behind Folken, falling silent. Folken continued.

"I was afraid. After the dragon tore off my arm, I was afraid to even leave my room. It took everything I had to come here the first time. 'My sister is more important.' 'It's better this way.' Don't give me those excuses anymore, Shays. I don't believe them, and I don't think you do, either."

"Oh?" Shays asked, the word hollow. Folken had won, for now, and he did not press the matter.

"Arias told me that Calantha is with child," Folken said, changing the subject. "Did you know that?"

"Of course," Shays answered. "Why do you think she's working inside, now, instead of in the vineyards?"

"Maybe you do have some sense after all."

Folken left Shays standing in the hallway and continued on to the servants' room. The doors, usually vanished during the day, stood open. Most of the Drifters still labored at their day's work, and so the room was nearly empty. Calantha huddled by the wall with two friends, two other women who had the immaculately clean hands of kitchen servants. (It was unusual for the Drifters to have clean _anything._) They gasped when he entered, scrabbling to press their foreheads to the floor.

"Master Folken!"

"Master Folken!"

Calantha's shoulders shook pitifully as he approached. She knew that Arias was hurt, then, if not how badly. It was easy to forget that most of the Drifters ranged from a few years younger than him to much older than him. They behaved like children—like Dilandau behaved at times. They were dependent like children, helpless like children. I will protect you like children, Folken thought. _Everyone always tells me that I have too much sympathy for strays, but I promise that I will protect you from Shays…like children…_

He knelt on the floor before Calantha. "Come with me, dear one," he told her. Calantha lifted her head.

"Master?" she asked softly.

_That's an impressive lump she's got on her head. Shays could have at least healed that._ Folken rested his organic hand on her head, massaging the bruise with his thumb. I'm out of energy to heal you, but this ought to help a bit.

"We're going to see Arias," he told her, his voice kind. "How does that sound?"

"Arias?" she asked uncertainly. Folken nodded. "Is he all right?"

"He'll be fine." Calantha's shoulders sagged with relief. "He's asleep now, but he'll be fine. Let's go see him, hmm?" He dropped his hand, offering it to her to help her up. She took it, pulling herself to her feet.

_This is what you don't understand, Shays._ Folken put an arm around her shoulders to support her as they moved toward the door. _These people around you…despite the way you treat them, they would lay down their lives for you without hesitation. Do you know what a precious gift that is? Do you know how hard that is to earn?_ Calantha sniffed, scrubbing a hand across her eyes, leaning on Folken heavily. _You've been given a gift, as have I. You're letting yours waste away, and I…_His thoughts drifted to Dilandau, who was waiting out there, somewhere, for Folken to find him. _With my own two hands, I will help the people around me…it's the least I can do._

ooooo

Alone in the dark room, Dilandau lay on his back on the floor, fingering the scissors, running his thumb along the blades. "Are you one of them too, Folken?" he asked the air softly. "Am I going to have to kill you, too?" 


	13. Chapter 13: City of Glass

Jhaylin- (Wicked grin) MAYbe…Read and find out!  
Maiden of the BH- Okay, so you won't be reading this for awhile yet…and I've thanked you in person…but thank you! You're the only person who actually corrects my punctuation and points out mistakes and stuff. I'd force-er, BRIBE-you into being my beta if I didn't know how much schoolwork you had to juggle!  
Wildcard- Yippee! Arigatou gozaimasu! I hope I can live up to your expectations!  
Iisjah- You like the scissors? I seem to have developed a tendency to have characters attack each other with scissors over the past year…  
DragonSteel- The birthmarks are only with full-blooded Draconians. Since Folken is a half-blood, he doesn't have them. As for Arias, and Folken finding Dilandau—not telling! I'm not sure whether I'm going to bring the Sorcerers back or not—probably will, though.  
Chiazmo- Thank you!  
Cala Akina Morushiku- Really? Cool! Tell your mom thank you for me!  
Phyllis Nodrey- Hee, don't count on updates continuing to be so quick. I'll try, though! Maybe I can time them by my Amaryllis plant, (Named Shays!) every time he grows a foot, I update…well, I wanted to have this update up for Singles' Awareness Day (Valentine's Day to normal people) but I got really sick for a week, and spent another week recovering from the first week, so that's two weeks that I mostly spent asleep. And yep, Draconians really do get that reaction from Dilly. He's been trained to think DraconianEvilKill. (Ryuujinbito Soku Zan! I've been watching too much Peace Maker Kurogane…)  
Granny Smith- Thank you! That's one of the nicest compliments I can receive—your review has really helped my self-confidence.  
Lady Snow Blood- Read and see! (Grin)  
Spinereader- Don't worry! Even if it takes years, I will never leave a fanfiction unfinished! Especially through Folken's interactions with Naria and Eriya and Hitomi, Folken has always come across to me as a very kind person who, perhaps, can't really afford to show it.  
I don't remember- Yes, I don't want you to die!  
BlackInque- Yea! I'm glad you liked Folken. His part was fun to write. Made me feel all fuzzy inside.  
Macky- Will do! (Salutes)

A/N: Wow, begging really DOES work! As y'all can see, after that last chapter went up, I now have exactly 100 reviews! DOOMO ARIGATOO GOZAIMASU! You have no idea how happy you've made me! (Er, don't let this be a reason to stop reviewing…hee hee!) And look, I really DO update faster when I get more reviews! Look how quickly this next chapter is going up! Lots more author's notes at the end, so I'll leave it off here. Please enjoy, and R&R!

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 13- City of Glass**

Folken stared at the ceiling of his borrowed bedroom with a heavy sigh. This was not, by any means, the way he had imagined his return to Last Snow. It had begun well, he supposed, though he had hoped for a bit more time before he and Shays began quarreling over moral issues again. When he had first come to the Mystic Valley, he had not cared about the slaves or any such things. But, his studies had awakened his mind in many ways that his tutors back in Fanelia and his instructors of science in Zaibach had never been able, and at the same time they opened his eyes, and for the first time he took a look at the world around him.

He and Shays did not see eye-to-eye on a great many things.

"I told him that I do not wish to go back," Folken murmured, resting the back of his organic hand against his forehead. "But, sometimes…just for a day or so…I wish I could go, just for a day. It was lovely back then. I didn't have anything to worry about aside from my studies, I wasn't responsible for anyone yet. I thought that returning here would be like going back…but I suppose that too much has changed." He sighed again and closed his eyes. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he had gone back again, because at least _this_ was the same. The cool night air that rustled the tapestries on the walls as it moved, the sweet chirping of the night birds, the fresh smell of lilac in the soap that the slaves used to wash linens. None of that had changed. Everyone looked the same, even. No one had changed. Nothing…had changed…nothing…had changed…

Folken opened his eyes. It had not bothered him much before, but now he had trouble sleeping in a bed that he knew had been made by slaves, in a room cleaned by slaves. He had hardly been able to choke down his food that night, knowing that it had been prepared by slaves. It used to bother him a bit, but he had accepted the excuse that the Drifters were happier like this, and convinced himself that it was not his place to tell another person that his culture and way of life were wrong. He had convinced himself that the Drifters were incapable of guiding their own destinies. Now he knew better. He knew plenty of men who, despite their lack of ability to touch Fate, had still made destinies for themselves.

He wondered what Shays would think about Zaibach's Sorcerers—men who, by this society's standards, would be Drifters, but who had been given a glimpse of Fate, could brush their fingertips against it and guide the ripples through Folken's machines. What would _that_ do to Shays's perspective of the world? Maybe it would be beneficial to bring Shays back with him for a time, to see another culture—another world.

"No," he told himself softly. That would be the right thing, but it could not be his first priority. There were issues he was fighting with the Sorcerers for, and he had to try to locate Dilandau as soon as possible as well. "I can't fight a war on even two fronts, much less three. Not by myself." Dilandau alone took enough of his energy. "You deserve all of my energy, Dilandau, not this distracted mind." Yet, the Drifters also deserved all of his energy, and so did all of those whom he fought against the Sorcerers for—the children they wished to experiment on. They all deserved all of his energy, yet he could not give all of it to everyone at once. "I truly am a man divided."

Dilandau had to come first. He was here somewhere. Poor Dilandau, he was probably wandering alone in the mountains somewhere, waiting for Folken to find him. He really did know so little about Dilandau. He knew that Dilandau was the result of the Sorcerers' experiments upon children, but what kind of experiments, he did not know. They professed him to be a success, if not a perfect success, so Folken had always assumed that they had meant to enhance Dilandau's physical abilities. That was only logical; the boy was amazing. Folken knew much of what he knew about Dilandau by forming a friendship over the five or so years since they had first met. But, beyond that—Dilandau rarely spoke of his time with the Sorcerers, and never spoke of his time before that. Folken never pressed, for clearly the memories were painful. He made his own inferences. Dilandau spoke with hints of an Asturian accent made faint by years in Zaibach from a young age. He had clearly come from Asturia, either taken or sent willingly. (Perhaps to get an education in the wondrous technologies of Zaibach; that sort of thing was not uncommon.) He had an aristocratic face, made even more regal by the way he carried himself. He wasn't royalty, but he was probably nobility of some sort. Folken was not even certain that "Dilandau Albatou" was his real name. There had been cases of many young people, nobility especially, running away from their homes and changing their names in order to learn the sciences in Zaibach. Chesta—he believed that was the boy's name now, for he often thought of him by the other—had been one of those cases. Born Raphael Aegis, the son of a minor knight, he had run away from home at the age of eleven to study in Zaibach, rather than follow in his father's footsteps. He had found the higher-level mathematics too difficult to handle, though, and had been forced to drop out of school, not progressing beyond his required studies. He had taken classes with Dilandau, and that was at the same time that Dilandau completed _his_ mandatory schooling and quit to fulfill his obligations to Zaibach's army. Dilandau had recognized Chesta's talents with a sword, and, as soon as he found out that Chesta would _not_ be continuing on to specialized education, Dilandau had snatched the boy up to join his new unit, the Dragon Slayers. Folken had known Dilandau since he was ten years old. Zaibach had placed Dilandau under Folken's command at age ten, but Dilandau had not entered actual military service until fourteen, and Folken's first work with Dilandau had been to tutor the young man as he struggled to balance a full day's worth of schoolwork _and_ a full day's worth of martial training at the same time. He was fair at the sciences, Folken remembered, and very good at mathematics—it was due to Dilandau's help that Chesta had made it through his final Calculus tests. He had proved himself surprisingly competent in history and grammar, too—things that consisted of hard facts and memorization—but had struggled with the arts and the more creative side of his education, the areas where Folken himself had felt the least competent. (Though Dilandau had continually surprised Folken—Folken remembered one occasion upon which Dilandau had written a brilliant poem about the uselessness of and his hatred of poetry.)

There was so much he did not know about Dilandau, yet the young soldier was still like family to him. Just as the Amaryllis family—and their slaves—were like family to him.

"Stay alive, Dilandau," he said softly. "Just stay alive and I'll find you. I promise, I'm coming."

ooooo

Things improved the next day, or so it seemed to him. Family can never stay angry at one another for long, not true family. Sentiments run too strong for conflicts to break them so easily. Shays was a bit quieter than usual, but aside from that, everything returned to normal. Folken rather enjoyed the part o the adopted prodigal son returned home. It was a shame that it would have to end.

_When I find you, Dilandau,_ he thought, _I'll bring you back here. All you've ever know is Zaibach's insensitive military. It'll do you good to rest up in a _real_ family environment. I'm sure they'll welcome you as they've welcomed me._

For the moment, though, he chased after Jay as she tried to escape from him down the Drifters' hallways. "Why are you running away?" he asked as he caught her, crouching down to b on a more equal height and laying his organic hand over her shoulder. Jay thrust her bottom lip out in a stubborn pout.

"No see Shays. Want to stay with 'Ken."

"Don't you want to show your brother what you've learned to do?" Folken asked. Jay shook her head with large, exaggerated motions.

"No see Shays. Shays mean. He never lets me play."

"Come now, Jay. We've worked very hard this morning." Folken covered his face with his organic hand, looking away. "If you won't show him, I think I might cry." That little trick had always worked with Van, but in the past, he had only had marginal success with Jay. Half the time, she did not understand what he meant.

It worked this time, though; she threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. "No cry, 'Ken! I go! I go!"

Folken smiled and ruffled her hair. "That's a good girl. Shays is in the kitchen. Let's go see him."

Jay nodded and broke into a run again. Folken's long strides kept him a few paces behind her easily. "Jay," he told her, "slow down, you're going to run right into the-"

_Smack._

Jay reeled back from the kitchen door and stared at it in bewilderment, as though not understanding why she did not go through. "You silly girl, did you hurt yourself?" Folken bent and gave her face a cursory scan. No marks, no bruises. "You have to open doors before you go through them!" Folken laughed. He opened the door and ushered Jay inside.

The large room had everything that a kitchen should—counters and stoves, fireplaces and cabinets. Several Drifter women clustered at one counter, cutting and cleaning vegetables for the midday meal. The sounds of crackling fire, knives against cutting boards, a scrubbing brush, and so many more all mingled together in the air, just like the myriad of smells. The kitchen aboard the Vione never smelled this good—the sweet scent of fresh bread was enough to make Folken's mouth water. He and Van used to sneak into the kitchens back in Fanelia all the time, for an early taste of dinner, or a special treat from the cook. Whenever they were caught, though, they would have to scrub the wooden floor as punishment. The floor in here was not stone, or carpets laid over stone, as in the rest of the building, but seamless ceramic tile that must be far, far easier to clean than that stained wooden floor back in Fanelia.

Folken found Shays standing in an unlit fireplace, craning his neck to peer up in the chimney. "Birds' nests," he told the woman next to him, whose apron, short-cut hair, and immaculately clean hands marked her as another kitchen slave. "That's why the smoke isn't going up. You need to alternate between these fireplaces more frequently. The smoke will usually keep them away." With a thought he cleared the nests away and ducked out of the fireplace. The slave bowed to him.

"Thank you, Master!"

Shays looked over and spied Folken and Jay waiting for his attention. "What are you two doing down here?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you were going to keep her out of my hair for a day, Folken."

"Look what I did!" Folken told Shays with a grin. Shays sighed and leaned against the counter.

"I'll bite. What have you done? Given Jay a mind?"

Folken's smile disappeared. Sometimes Shays came very close to verbal abuse, in his opinion. At least Jay did not understand his words.

Folken spread six color-dyed feathers across his flat hands. "Tell Shays what colors these are, Jay."

Jay's brow furrowed in concentration. "Red," she said first, picking up the red feather. "Blue. Yellow. Purple. Green. Orange!" she finished, looking up at Shays proudly, holding out the feathers to him. Shays stared at her in disbelief.

"She got them all right! How did you do that?" Folken lifted his chin in mock smugness, imitating the haughty posture that Shays often assumed.

"Some of us choose the Violet Order, you know, and then there are some of us who are fated to be in it."

"I'm not kidding, Folken." Shays waved a hand at Jay, and she lowered the feathers, disappointed that he would not take them. "How did you do that? I've been trying for years, and I can't even get her to pick up the simplest things."

"A little empathy, that's all," Folken told him with a soft sigh. "I've already had practice caring for my little brother that you've never experienced."

Shays looked to his sister. "Run along now, Jay, I need to talk to Folken. Go play with Father. Maybe he'll take you for a walk outside."

"Okay!" Jay tossed the feathers onto the counter and made her way to the door, singing to herself. "La, ra, la, ra, la ra—ow!" She walked into the door and knocked herself to the floor.

"Jay!" Folken hurried to help her to her feet. "Why do you keep running into that door, Jay? You have to open doors, you can't walk through them."

"No door," Jay told him. Folken frowned in confusion. "No door there," she repeated, pointing to the door.

"No door there? You can't see the door?" Folken looked up at Shays. "Is there anything strange about this door?"

"Not really," Shays answered, joining them. "It caught fire and burned up a few years ago, and I fate-altered it back."

"Did she used to run into it before then?" Folken asked. Shays folded his arms beneath his cloak.

"Now that you mention it, no."

"Very strange." Folken straightened and picked up a wooden spoon that was lying on one of the counters. He burned it in the fireplace, re-formed the ashes into a whole spoon again, and showed it to Jay. "What am I holding, Jay? What do I have in my hand?"

Jay examined Folken's palm, then looked up at his face. "Air," she told him. "Hand is empty."

"She can't see it," Shays murmured. "In the case of the door, she's aware that there's something there that resists her, but she can't see it."

"You can go now, Jay," Folken told her, holding the door open. Jay skipped out—or tried to—singing to herself again. "It makes sense," he told Shays, as the door swung shut. "If you can't touch her with Fate, it makes sense that she would have trouble seeing things that have been changed by Fate."

"That would explain a lot," Shays mused.

Hot, soapy water sloshed around the soles of their shoes, and Shays leapt back to keep the hem of his cloak from becoming wet. "Dammit, Calantha, be a little more careful!"

"Forgive me, Master!" came the anxious reply. Calantha hurried to right the overturned bucket and continue scrubbing the floor.

"Calantha?" Folken leaned over the counter to see the young woman on her hands and knees. "What are you doing down here? You should be upstairs with Arias."

Calantha looked up at him. "But, Master, what about my chores?"

"I think Arias is more important," Folken answered with a smile. "Don't worry, I doubt the floor will mind. Go on upstairs."

"Thank you, Master!" Calantha hurried away, leaving the bucket and brush on the floor.

"Folken!" Shays sputtered, "what are you doing? You can't just re-arrange my Drifters' duties like that!"

Folken tilted his head to the side. "My observations have shown that patients recover faster when in the company of those who care for them. You do want Arias to recover quickly, yes?"

Shays's face darkened. "Of course I do. But, who's going to perform Calantha's chores?"

"You told me that her work load was fairly light," Folken answered. "Her tasks shouldn't be hard to divide. I'll take care of it, even, if you'd like. I can still remember how everything is organized, mostly." When Shays's expression did not change, Folken's eyes narrowed slightly. "Or perhaps I'll just finish them myself." He unfastened his cloak and tossed it onto the counter, eliciting a gasp from Shays. A High Artisan never allowed himself to be seen without his cloak by anyone apart from family and very close friends, and especially not by Drifters. "What else did she have to do today?" He pulled back his wide sleeve and knelt, taking up the abandoned brush and scrubbing the floor in circles.

"Folken, stop that!" Shays ordered. Folken looked up at him.

"Why? I used to wash floors in Zaibach all the time, when I first began my studies. I washed them in Fanelia, too. It was discipline. It's not going to kill me, and you want it done, don't you? Now, what are Calantha's other duties?" _I have to make you see, Shays. Whatever it takes—if I have to take off my shoes and press all your grapes by myself—I'll make you see._ He started scrubbing again.

"Stand up, Folken!" Shays cried. "Stop that!" Folken ignored him. "Folken!"

"Master Folken!" The kitchen slaves plucked at his clothes.

"Master Folken, please stand up!"

"Let one of us do that, Master!"

"Why do you object so much, Shays?" Folken asked, gesturing with the brush, soapy water running down his arm and dripping from his elbow.

"It's just not right, Folken." Shays leaned against the counter on his elbows, his head in his hands. "You come here and you turn everything upside-down and I can't tell what's right anymore."

"I don't want to hurt my family," Folken told him, "but my heart won't allow me to let you keep treating the Drifters the way you do. They're my family too, Shays."

Shays sighed wearily. "Let's go to the Bell Tower, Folken. If we leave now, we can probably get a slot for tomorrow. You can get your soldier and go home."

"Very good." Folken rose, throwing his cloak around his shoulders. "Getting rid of me won't get rid of your problems, though. You know that."

"I'm not trying to get rid of you," Shays told him, massaging his temples. "I'm trying to get away from Last Snow so that I can think. I need to think. The City of Glass seems like a good place to do it."

"As good as any," Folken agreed. "I'll tell Mother and Father that we're leaving."

Folken swept out of the room, and Shays pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Why do you do these things to me, Folken?"

ooooo

Swinging the small bag over his shoulder, Folken stepped off the mosaic platform and onto the path covered in smooth, glass pebbles, like all of the paths that wound through the City of Glass. More pebbles crunched behind him as Shays stepped down, close at his heels. The heart and soul of New Atlantis, if not the geographic center—the capitol, in fact—the City of Glass had a rather strict dress code, which most complained about and Folken secretly enjoyed. Traditional Atlantis clothing was so light and airy, and his feet felt so free in their sandals after being contained in Zaibach shoes for so long. He spun in a circle, his cloak flaring out behind him, the reduced friction of the pebbles beneath his feet carrying him through several rotations before he finally stumbled forward.

"You're certainly rather merry, aren't you?" Shays asked with a small smile. The trip to the City of Glass was lifting his spirits, too, whether he cared to admit it or not. How could the city fail to inspire joy in anyone? It was the greatest of the High Artisans' art, a city crafted entirely out of glass. Graceful spires rose into the sky, glinting with light like mountain dragons. Many walls, out of a need for privacy, were opaque and mirrored, reflecting back the colors of the sky and clouds and the other buildings around them. Some walls were faceted like a great gem, putting on a great, sparkling display without allowing outsiders to look in. And some, especially the uppermost levels of the spires, were transparent, and Folken could see the sky through them.

The Bell Tower rose highest to the heavens, across the city but still visible from even here. The lower levels, all the way down to the ground, were almost exclusively transparent glass. The uppermost room, which held the actual "bells", had special, destiny-altered walls that appeared as mirrors from the outside and windows from the inside. When most people spoke of the Bell Tower, they referred to that room, and it was that room that Folken intended to use to find Dilandau. As a fully qualified, registered, and practicing High Artisan of the Violet Order, Folken was, of course, welcome to visit any of the other rooms in the deceptively large tower, but he doubted he would find anything of use to him. The brunt of an Artisan's studies as he specialized his learning for High Artisan status were conducted in the other rooms of the Bell Tower. Doubtless, Folken would find many of his old instructors still teaching—he would have to drop in and visit a few of his favorites, he decided. At this distance, he could just make out, past the reflections of light on the glass walls, the rows of white-uniformed young men and women perched on their stools. It had taken him a long time to grow comfortable with the thought that anyone in the city could spy on him at any time through the walls or ceiling or floor. Nobody here knew who he was, apart from the Amaryllis family. Nobody here had anything to suspect of him, no reason to try to hunt him down. _If only the rest of Gaea could be like this!_

"Should we stop in now?" Shays asked quietly. "There's no sense in getting an inn room if there's been an appointment cancellation today." Folken nodded.

It wasn't normally very difficult to get into the Bell Tower, especially for High Artisans, but appointments usually had to be made at least a day in advance. Sometimes, though, the Bell Tower would be closed for a week at a time so that an organization of High Artisans could conduct research without interruption—Folken prayed that this would not be one of those weeks.

They made their way though the crystal streets, Artisans and Drifters stepping politely out of the way to allow them to pass. Most of the buildings sported balconies on their upper levels, and white feathers constantly fluttered through the air as citizens flew up to and departed from those balconies. Folken knew from memory that the buildings, save those that denied Drifters admittance, also had staircases inside. A Drifter on an errand for his master would not be able to fly to those balconies on his clipped wings.

He could see the Bell Tower, and he thought that he could make out the dormitories where the Artisan students stayed, but the City of Glass was home to more than the Bell Tower school alone. An Artisan's studies did not necessarily cease when he discovered that he lacked the skills necessary to specialize his abilities as a High Artisan. Additional schools existed for scholars, astronomers, alchemists, and other such learned skills. Emperor Dornkirk had once told Folken of his attempts to turn lead into gold through alchemy, and Folken had spent some of his free time at the alchemists' school to see if he could, in fact, learn to do such a thing and bring the skill back to Zaibach with him. As fate would have it, though, gold from lead was one of the things that the New Atlantis alchemists had not yet discovered how to do. That had been one of his first lessons that, even in the City of Glass, the unlimited was not possible. Of course, he could simply fate-alter the lead into gold, but, in his opinion, such pursuits were a petty waste of energy unless he could find a practical and perfectly scientific use for that gold.

Folken smiled to himself. He had ended up fate-altering a respectable amount of lead into gold in order to construct Dilandau's diadem—not just for the jewelry itself, but for the myriad of tiny, sensitive wires inside it.

"Folken!" Shays's hand closed around Folken's arm and jerked him backwards, out of the path of a glass door that had slipped from the hands of the Artisan affixing it in place. It shattered on the sidewalk, sharp shards skittering and tinkling along the ground. Folken sighed. While he could not be seriously injured by a falling door, being hit with one would still prove rather unpleasant, not to mention embarrassing. "Stop daydreaming and watch where you're going!" Shays scolded. "Goodness! You used to be so observant!"

"Sorry, Shays." Folken straightened his cloak. "Too many memories, I suppose. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The Artisan who had let the door fall bowed to them. "Forgive me, sirs! It slipped right out of my hands! I trust you're not injured?"

"No, we're fine," Folken told him with a glance at the store's sign. Ah, he remembered this place, though it had changed ownership. It sold carefully sculpted glass globes in imitation of the structures in the Bell Tower—filled with water, of course, but producing the same tone—for students and the clumsy High Artisan to practice with. Folken had patronized the business quite frequently, until he had finally resigned himself to the fact that his metal fingers would always break glass.

"Good, good!" The Artisan nodded and spread his fingers, preparing to repair the door. A young man from the passing throng of people, who had been standing back hesitantly, came forward and laid a hand on the Artisan's shoulder.

"May I try, sir?" he asked.

Folken took in the young man's pristine, white clothes, the teardrop on the otherwise untattooed, youthful face, the strip of brown cloth tied around his forehead. A student in training for the Brown Order. It was no wonder that he jumped at the chance to practice his skills.

The Artisan moved aside to let the boy kneel over the shards of the broken door. Shays tugged at Folken's cloak. "Let's go, Folken. We're wasting time." Folken shrugged him off.

"I want to see if he makes it."

"You're ridiculous!"

The boy's eyebrows knit together in concentration, and Folken followed the waves he created. The pieces of glass pulled together, forming into the shape of a door again. The boy would fail, though. His mind was still too clumsy. Indeed, after a few moments of concentration, he opened his eyes again and sighed.

Pity moved Folken's heart. He moved around the half-formed door and knelt next to the boy, ignoring a mutter from Shays. "What's your name?" he asked. The boy looked up at him.

"Keisho, my lord." Folken held out his organic hand.

"Give me your hands, Keisho." Puzzled, Keisho placed his hands in Folken's. "We're called Artisans for a reason. You're not using finesse, so you're only changing fate so that the pieces didn't break apart completely. That's why the cracks won't close up to make it beautiful again. Follow me." Folken closed his eyes, and after a moment, Keisho did the same. The cracks in the door vanished, the pieces fusing together, until it was as though the door had never broken. Keisho gasped, opening his eyes.

"That was amazing!" Keisho breathed. "It's like you were dancing! I've never seen anything like it!"

"I have been told that I'm a bit too artistic," Folken told him with a wry smile. "But you followed me just fine. You're the one who fixed the door."

"How did you learn to do it like that?" Keisho asked, staring at the flawless door.

"I've had a lot more practice. You have the potential, you just need time."

Keisho was not listening. His eyes, wide as full moons now, had fallen on Folken's mechanical hand, which the Strategos had let casually rest on his knee. Noting Keisho's expression and following his line of vision, Folken released Keisho's hands and hastily pulled his cloak over to cover his hand.

"A-Are you Folken Fanel?" Keisho asked. Folken frowned, but nodded.

"I am," he answered. "Why do you say it like that?"

Keisho looked so impressed that Folken feared he might faint. "The teachers talk about you all the time, especially the Violets! I never thought I would actually get to meet you! Oh, wow!"

Folken looked up at Shays. _I'm a celebrity?_ He mouthed. Shays coughed and turned away, hiding a smile behind his hand.

"Did I forget to mention that? It must have slipped my mind."

Folken looked back and forth from Shays to Keisho. As the Strategos of Zaibach, he had become accustomed to a certain degree of fame—or infamy, as the case may have it—but he had never had anyone treat him like this before!

"Sir, it's an honor to meet you!" Keisho bowed to Folken, pressing his forehead to the ground. Folken looked to Shays helplessly.

"I—er—well—thank you?" How was he supposed to react to this? He shot Shays a look that clearly begged, _help me!_

Shays's face turned serious, and he seized Keisho by the back of his clothes, pulling the boy up. "You've wasted enough of our time. Get going." Keisho bowed deeply to the both of them, nearly falling over, and continued down the road.

Folken stood, and they, too, went on their way. "_What_ was that all about, Shays?" Folken demanded. Shays smiled.

"The teachers still talk about you in the Bell Tower. The famous young student of the Violet Order who, despite being handicapped by the lack of one arm, can manipulate fate as easy as breathing and as beautiful as rain."

"But, I graduated five years ago!" Folken protested.

"It doesn't matter. You're very impressive, and I think you're the only one who doesn't see it. You're one of the most talented High Artisans ever to come through here." Shays sighed. "It's such a shame that your skills are rotting away in that country of yours."

"Well, it can't be helped," Folken responded. "I can't very well stay here, and I wasn't permitted to leave until I promised not to reveal what I had learned here. That means that I can't practice." The vows he had taken permitted him to build the destiny-manipulating machines for Zaibach, and to explain a few of fate's most basic principles so that the Sorcerers could operate the machines. He could go into no detail, nor even tell the Emperor of his experiences in the Mystic Valley, or reveal the existence of New Atlantis. Emperor Dornkirk was a surprisingly trusting man, much more so than anyone ever realized. All he knew was that his Strategos, his right-hand man, had left for five years on a journey to find his people, had learned in a strange place, and had come back bearing a great and mysterious knowledge, only a tiny fraction of which he could reveal to others.

"I know it can't be helped. But, it's still a shame."

They continued on to the Bell Tower in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Folken brightened when the large building finally filled his vision, its base taking up an entire city block. It had no door, but a pattern of frosted glass in the shape of a pair of wings marked its transparent side. Folken stepped up to it, stopping and staring at the pattern. He remembered it so clearly—he had stepped through those wings almost every day. He reached up with his organic hand and brushed his fingers along the smooth glass, sending ripples across the surface like water.

"Will you just go in?" Shays asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. Folken walked into the wings, the glass giving away around him. It felt clean and cool on his exposed skin, like jumping into the fountains in the Fanelian gardens on a hot day as a child. Then he was inside, his footsteps echoing on the grooved, glass floor. Shays gave Folken a small push forward and stepped in behind him.

"Don't stop in the doorway, either!"

"Will you stop nagging me?" Folken exclaimed. "You sound like my mother! Or General Adelphos," he added as an afterthought.

"Who's General Adelphos?"

"Nobody you know. Consider yourself lucky for that." Folken drifted to the clear wall of a classroom, watching as the white-clad students inside, green bands tied around their heads, tended to rows of potted plants. A young girl close to him took a dying and yellowed leaf in her hand, and before his eyes the color phased slowly back to green. "Ah, I remember learning that."

"This is going to take a week if I leave you to your own devices, Folken!" Shays crossed to a free-standing wall of smoky glass in the center of the room, a list etched into the glass, which he scanned. "Damn, there's no room today."

"How about tomorrow?" Folken asked, leaning down to watch a boy heal a flower. Shays's eyes moved down the careful lines drawn into the glass.

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"It'll have to do, I suppose."

Shays lifted a finger and traced it on a blank line as though writing, and shallow, white grooves appeared in the glass—their names. "All right, let's go."

Folken straightened, swinging his bag over his shoulder again as they left the building. "Tomorrow you'll get to meet Dilandau, then. I'm certain that you'll like him. He's a very unique person."

"I'm sure I will."

"Let's find an inn, then."

ooooo

Folken dropped his bag to the floor and flopped face-first down on his bed, heaving a great sigh. The sun still shone in through the frosted-glass, windowless walls, filling the small room with a cool light.

"What's that for?" Shays asked.

"Nothing," Folken mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm just happy to be back again. You have no idea."

"Is that so?"

Folken heard the clink of glass on glass—it sounded like Shays was setting something out on the room's glass table. What had he brought with him?

"I've been thinking, Shays."

"Oh, dear."

"Maybe we should have gone back home for the night. I should be watching over Arias."

"Arias will be fine. Father is taking care of him. You know Father—he treats all the slaves we've had for a long time like family."

Folken turned onto his back and shot Shays a glare, which the other man ignored as he arranged crystal goblets in rows on the clear, glass table. Taking a pitcher of water, he began to fill them, rapping them with a finger until he found the tone he desired.

"What are those for?" Folken asked. "You can't be that thirsty!"

Shays looked up. "Help me with this, will you? We've got an entire day to pass. We're going to practice."

A/N: Chesta's name taken from St. Raphael the Archangel, 'cause he's really cool and often overlooked when people think about the Archangels. He makes me think of Chesta, somehow. The other part of Chesta's name is, of course, taken from Greek mythology. It also seemed to fit.  
As for Keisho's name, the day that I wrote him in, I finally got to watch the Gackt&Hyde movie Moonchild (If only it were mine to keep!) and decided that it was one of the most beautiful movies I've ever seen. (I cried like a sissy.) Kei, Hyde's character, is the super-awesome vampire, and Sho, Gackt's character, is the mafia-family-guy. Had to attempt to immortalize them here.  
Just so that nobody thinks that Dilly and Chessy are dropouts, they performed the Zaibach equivalent of completing high school and joining the military instead of going on to college.  
**Important!** Or maybe not—since I'm indecisive, I'm leaving this next chapter up to the readers. Do you want me to continue with The Amazing Adventures of Folken in Draconianland, or do you want to see what's been going on with the Ryuugekitai? 


	14. Chapter 14: Well, it's about damn time!

A/N: Responses to reviewers will be at the end this time, since there's getting to be so many. (Not that it's a bad thing! I really love all the reviews!) I just have a few things to say before this chapter. First: A big congratulations to everybody who's made it this far, and ESPECIALLY everybody who's reviewed every chapter—this fanfiction has now broken the standard minimum word count for a novel. Second—There's a special surprise at the end of the chapter before the reviewer responses. Tell me what you think! Thirdas to why I haven't updated in so long...well, you wouldn't have much time to write fanfictions either if you had a large research paper to write, and your bed gave you nasty hives for three months.

I'd also like to take a moment to remember Pope John Paul II, who died today. You were an amazing man, and the only Pope I've ever known. You will be sorely missed, but your rest is much-deserved!

Okay, on with the chapter. (Lights turn off, curtain rises)

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 14- Well, it's about damn time!**

Lying on his back, Dilandau stared at the ceiling of the room. At least, he assumed it was the ceiling. He knew from the force of gravity the direction of down, and from there he deduced the direction of up. Of course, the way these Artisans liked to manipulate things, he could very well be sticking to the ceiling and have no idea. The fact that down had been assigned to the floor when he had entered had nothing to do with it.

He couldn't actually see anything. When he left, Shays had taken the door with him. Dilandau had explored every inch of the room that he could reach with his hands, feeling along the walls, dropping to his stomach and crawling along the floor. He could not get out. More distressing, perhaps, was that he had a fairly reliable internal clock. Despite the fact that he could not see the sun, he could guess within a few hours the amount of time he had been stuck in the room, or at least the amount of time that he had been conscious.

"For a whole day," Dilandau muttered, his voice quickly swallowed by the stifling darkness. "He's left me down here for a whole fucking day!" Had Shays _forgotten_ about him? Was this some sort of punishment? Shays couldn't just leave him down here!

Or could he? Shays had told him that it would be nothing to kill him and replace him. Had Shays really meant that? Did he really mean to leave Dilandau there to starve to death?

Dilandau laughed to himself. "No, of course not. I'll die of thirst before I starve to death." Already his mouth was so dry that it was becoming hard to swallow. "He's just left me here…alone."

He tried to squelch the panic welling within him. If he panicked, he would never get out. "Like I have a snowflake's chance on the sun to get out, anyway!" He threw himself at the nearest wall, scrabbling at it as though he could somehow tear the stones apart with his fingers. "I'm all alone in here!" he screamed. "You bastards! Can't you hear me?" The stones tore at his nails, tore at the flesh of his fingers. "I'm all alone in here! I'm blind again! I'm all alone in the dark!" Panting, he threw himself bodily against the wall, and almost swore that he could feel his fingers enter the stone. He was no longer thinking clearly. "Somebody get me out of here!" he cried. "I'm alone in the dark! I'm alone in the dark! Get me out of here!"

Suddenly the wall fell away, and light flooded his vision. A pair of arms caught him and lowered him to the ground. "Get me out of here!" he continued to shout, grabbing at the person's clothes to keep him from leaving. "I'm alone in the dark! I'm scared! Someone help me!"

"It's all right," the voice told him kindly, gentle hands gripping his shoulders. "You're out now. Open your eyes. It's not dark anymore."

"Folken?" Dilandau dared to venture. Immediately, logic dashed his hopes. Both the hands that gripped him were organic. The voice was not Folken's; in fact, he was not certain that he had heard it before.

Dilandau opened his eyes, looking up into Gwinnett's worried face. "You're not Folken," he said.

"No, dear boy. Folken and Shays have left on a trip."

Dilandau sank to his knees, hiding his face in his hands. "So that was him I saw. Damn you, Folken! I'm right here! Come and take me home!"

"But you are home," Gwinnett told him, patting his shoulder awkwardly.

"This isn't home!" Dilandau snarled, looking up. "Home isn't where people shut you up in rooms with no doors and leave you!"

Gwinnett's face went pale. "Did Shays leave you in there? How long?"

"For at least a damn day!" Dilandau told him. Gwinnett sighed.

"Shays, haven't you been listening to anything Folken is trying to tell you?" He shook his head. "We're going to have to make some changes around here, before he goes too far."

"I think it's a little late for that, don't you?" Dilandau growled. Gwinnett stood, folding his arms and looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"You may be right."

Dilandau crawled to the wall and used its support to pull himself to his feet. "I learned all about you people in Zaibach," he continued in a low voice, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Gwinnett regarded him with a nonchalant air.

Didn't he know that lions only became _more_ dangerous when wounded?

"What did you learn?" Gwinnett asked.

"Your people destroyed Atlantis," Dilandau began, advancing on the Artisan, who backed away slowly. "It was a great and powerful country, but its inhabitants became too greedy for power. They thought they could become gods. They made another world to rule over, and then they fell victim to their own evil power."

"And how does that affect you?" Gwinnett asked. "It was hundreds of years ago." "Stop speaking to me like a child!" Dilandau reached out to the Artisan with both hands. "I have to kill you all, before you can do the same thing to Gaea!" His hands closed around Gwinnett's throat, and Gwinnett held his place. _Why isn't he backing away anymore?_ Dilandau tried to tighten his grip, but his fingers wouldn't close. _Something's wrong._ He looked up at Gwinnett's placid face. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his vision fading in and out of focus. "What's going on? What are you doing to me? Why aren't you afraid?" His knees buckled beneath him. Gwinnett caught Dilandau as he fell, lowering him to the floor. "Why…aren't you hurting me?"

"Hurting you? My boy, what would that accomplish?" Gwinnett pressed a glass of water into Dilandau's hand. "Drink that. You weren't well when you were shut up in there, and going a day without food or drink hasn't helped you."

"Finally, someone around here with some sense." Dilandau did not particularly want to drink the water, but he knew that he needed it. It just seemed like all he had done since arriving in this damned place was to get abused by Shays and then drink water to recover. "You're a Draconian. You know that as soon as I get up, I'm going to try to kill you."

"And why would you do such a thing?"

_Dammit, I told you to stop speaking to me like a child!_ It had not occurred to Dilandau that, despite his physical and mental age, he really was a child in this situation. _Jay_ probably knew more about this place than he did.

"Do you really think that you could harm an Artisan?" Gwinnett asked with a smile. When Dilandau merely watched him, he sighed. "You know, you probably could. You could probably kill me right now, and I wouldn't be able to stop you."

"Yeah, right," Dilandau told him. "I've been here long enough to know that that's a damn lie."

"No, it's true," Gwinnett objected. "I have such a weak grip on destiny that I'm very nearly a Drifter. It's like having such poor eyesight that you're nearly blind. You can see, but just barely; do you understand?"

"Yeah," Dilandau told him, levering himself up on his elbows. "And, why are you telling me all his? You're an Artisan."

"My boy," Gwinnett told him with a smile, "so are you."

OOOOO

Only half awake, Folken turned on his side and groped about for his blanket. He must have kicked it off in the night. He didn't remember night being so cold in the City of Glass! Only when he sat and opened his eyes did he realize that his blanket had not departed him. _Why is it so cold? It shouldn't be this cold at this time of year!_ He could see his breath on the air!

Tossing off his blankets with a shiver and throwing his cloak over his nightclothes, Folken crossed to the room's outside-facing wall and pressed his organic hand flat against the chill surface. A square of the wall went transparent, and he had his answer. The City of Glass was covered in ice. Thick clouds hid the sun away, lengthening the time until it would melt—if it would even melt on its own. All of the buildings, even the streets, had a liberal coating several inches thick. When Folken had turned the glass transparent, he had turned the ice, too. On a whim he restored the ice to normal; he could not see through it.

Folken went to Shays's bed, where the other man still slept quite soundly, and shook his shoulder. "Shays!" he hissed. "Wake up. You need to see this."

Shays swatted his hand away idly. "It's barely morning. I'll look later." Folken sighed, and ripped the blankets off Shays, tossing them on the floor. "Dammit, Folken, it's cold in here!" Shays paused. "Why is it so cold in here?"

"Look outside," Folken told him. Shays went to the square of window that Folken had created and turned the ice transparent, mistaking it for glass. Over Shays's shoulder Folken could see a few High Artisans in brown-lined cloaks and a greater number of students in brown headbands on the streets. They worked to melt the ice from the doors so that the people trapped inside could escape, the High Artisans grim, the students gleefully sliding about on the slick street.

The color drained from Shays's face, and his knees buckled beneath him. He grabbed for the nearest object—a chair sitting at the glass table—and leaned heavily against it for support.

"What is it?" Folken questioned. "It's odd, but it isn't that bad, is it?"

"I could be mistaken, but if not, then it couldn't be worse, Folken," Shays told him, eyes wide.

"Let's assume that you're right, then. What is it?"

"It's the Everlasting Frost," Shays answered. "It's the Everlasting Frost."

OOOOO

Dilandau snorted, sitting up. "If I was an Artisan, do you really think that I would let Shays shut me up in that room?"

"But you didn't," Gwinnett objected. "When I came along, I saw your fingers protruding from the wall. You were escaping."

"Yeah?" Dilandau rested his cheek in his hand. "Look, why don't you just throw me back in the vineyard or wherever it is that you're going to put me?"

"The vineyard? My boy, you're far more useful in here!"

Dilandau's face screwed up in confusion. "Huh?"

"I have a theory," Gwinnett began, lifting a finger, "that children born as Drifters do not always remain so. They develop their abilities with fate later on in life, like growing wings or puberty. But, I've never been able to find an instance of it until you came along. Tell me, where were you born?"

Dilandau sat back on his hands. "I don't know. And the ones who do know won't tell me." That had always bothered him. Why was it such a secret? Had he hatched from an egg or something?

"Well then, where are you from? Who was your first master?"

Dilandau sighed. What should he do? If he answered truthfully—Gwinnett had never heard of Zaibach, and would likely upbraid him for lying. Neither did he know enough about this place to invent himself a past. Gwinnett would only have to check names to find the deception. The truth, then.

"My full name is Dilandau Albatou," he told Gwinnett. "To my knowledge, I am from the Zaibach Empire and have always lived there."

"Zaibach!" Gwinnett exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Zaibach, Zaibach." He paced several steps back and forth before turning to the still-sitting Dilandau. "Would you, by any chance, be related to Folken Lacour de Fanel?"

"We aren't related," Dilandau answered, "but I've known him for most of my life. He's my commanding officer."

"Oh, dear. It seems that someone has made a very great mistake." Gwinnett crouched before Dilandau, pushing his glasses up farther on the bridge of his nose with one finger. "Just before he left us for the last time, Folken told us of a new acquaintance of his. A young man named Dilandau. An albino with a lot of spirit."

"That would be me," Dilandau told him wryly. A lot of spirit, eh?

"Folken is here," Gwinnett said. "He's looking for you."

Dilandau brightened. Folken hadn't let him down after all!

But, Folken had lied. He had never told Dilandau that he was a Draconian. _Of course, I never asked, either, so I guess it's not really a lie._ Suspicion flooded back into him. Without the wings out, he had forgotten for a moment that Gwinnett was a Draconian, too. "How do I know that you're not lying to me?"

"That again?" Gwinnett sighed. "You _must_ be a human, then. Why do you hold me responsible for the sins of my ancestors?"

Dilandau stood and began backing away. "Your people destroyed Atlantis. What if you do the same to Gaea? What if this is a chance given to me to stop you?"

"What if your great-grandfather killed a man and you were forced to spend the rest of your life in torment to atone for it?" Gwinnett countered.

_All right, so that wouldn't be fair, but it's an entirely different situation. Dammit, he's trying to change my mind. Why the hell does he care what I think?_

"It hurts, you know. You hate me without knowing me." Gwinnett pushed a lock of hair back behind his ear. "At least Shays has his reasons, poor as they are."

"I hate Shays too," Dilandau snapped. "He's a son of a bitch!"

"I would be inclined to agree with you," Gwinnett laughed softly," if that particular phrase did not insult my wife instead of Shays.

"I'll try to get you home, Dilandau," he finished. "You don't belong here."

"Then send me home!" Dilandau demanded. "Send me back right now!"

"I would, but I cannot." Humph! Yeah, right! All sweet talk after all, eh? "Only a High Artisan can create a pillar of light."

Dilandau slapped himself in the face. "You mean we need Shays, don't you?"

"I would rather Folken do it," Gwinnett admitted. "It will be hard enough to convince Shays to let you go."

"Why?" Dilandau folded his arms. "You're his father, aren't you?" What kind of father couldn't even keep his own son under control? _Then again, the Zaibach army hasn't really had much success with me, have they?_ He thought with a smile.

"He has no respect for me." Gwinnett adjusted his glasses again. "He has no respect for those weaker than him."

Dilandau lifted his chin, red eyes flashing. "You people have kidnapped me, you know. I'm an important official of Zaibach's army. This could be a cause for the Empire to declare war on you." Maybe. He did not know if Zaibach's weapons and technology could stand up to the destiny tricks of the Artisans. Then again, the Sorcerers probably had some nasty tricks hidden inside those cloaks that he knew nothing of.

Gwinnett bowed his head, hair spilling into his face. "What can I do to rectify the trouble we have caused?"

Dilandau chewed a fingertip, thinking. Blegh. It tasted bitter and sour, the way that burn treatment smelled. "Prove to me that you're not the monsters who destroyed Atlantis," he answered slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I want my freedom. And I want to get to Folken as soon as possible. We'll see what happens after that."

Gwinnett nodded his agreement. "I shall do all that I can."

OOOOO

Folken looked to Shays as they made their way carefully down the ice-covered street. "Are you sure you're all right?" he questioned.

"Yes," Shays answered immediately, and Folken recognized a lie. The man's face was still as pale as Dilandau's, and his footsteps faltering, as though he might collapse.

Upon seeing the ice covering the city, Shays had attributed the phenomenon to the Everlasting Frost. Folken remembered the legend from his time in the Mystic Valley, though he had never put stock in such a thing. It was a prediction of the End of Times, when the sky would perpetually darken, snow would howl from the skies, and wolves and dragons would pour from the mountains to rend the survivors to pieces. As a scientist, Folken knew t hat such a thing was nearly impossible, and dismissed it as a folktale. Shays, however, was firmly convinced.

"Are you fit enough to help me?" Folken asked.

"Yes. I can make it."

"Good."

They spread their wings and flew to the uppermost balcony of the Bell Tower, a place that could only be reached by the air. The glass door stood open, inviting them in, and closed tight behind them of their own accord.

Dozens of crystal globes—the bells—hung suspended in the air, each filled with a bright green liquid. An Artisan manipulated fate by oscillating destiny particles and then controlling the waves. That green liquid was made up of pure, concentrated destiny particles, oscillated with the hands. Folken had designed Zaibach's machines based upon the structures in the Bell Tower and mathematical calculations. With those, a Drifter could manipulated fate to a limited extent; with the Bell Tower, a High Artisan could accomplish far greater and more complicated tasks than he could ever be accomplished with the most intricate machines.

Folken busied himself with re-arranging the globes to suit his purposes, pushing them gently through the air. They bobbed like children's boats in a stream, drifting along to a stop at his desired elevation.

His metal arm put him at a disadvantage. In practice during his schooling, he found that his fingers would crack, chip, or completely shatter glass as often as not, and the crystal in the Bell Tower broke even easier. Whereas a normal High Artisan would play the songs with two hands, Folken was limited to one. He had compensated with practice, and by the end of his studies, he was just as competent as any other Artisan. However, he had not kept up his skills in Zaibach. Shays would play the song with him, as they had done many times before.

"Are you ready?" Folken asked. Shays stood in the center of the room, craning his neck to look up at the sky through the transparent ceiling.

"I don't like the clouds. It's going to snow. It shouldn't be snowing at this time of year."

"It's just a bit of odd weather," Folken told him coolly. "It's not so uncommon."

"What's with that tone of voice?" Shays cast him a baleful look. "I thought that Folken came back to us, not the Strategos."

"I was so happy to be back that I began to lose focus of my goal," Folken replied, his face betraying no emotion. "I cannot afford to be Folken any longer. I must be the Strategos." He struck one of the bells with his fingernail and a sweet, high note filled the air, accompanied by a burst of light. "You never answered my question. Are you ready?"

"Ready when you are. Lead me to what you're looking for, and I'll follow." Shays tossed his cloak back over his shoulders to free his arms and flexed his fingers, stepping up to a row of bells that Folken had arranged.

Outside, rain began to fall softly, freezing as it neared the city and bouncing off the glass as pellets of ice.

"The Seeking Song, then." Folken lifted his organic hand and struck the crystal globes with his fingernails, their sounds bouncing from the walls. A flurry of chimes from Shays joined his, and light exploded over their heads. More notes adjusted the color and shape of the light until an image of Gaea floated in the air. His eyes fixed upon it, Folken let the image guide his hand. Gaea dissolved and re-formed itself into the Mystic Valley. Shays followed Folken's tune, brow furrowed in intense concentration in sharp contrast to Folken's controlled, fluid motions.

Outside the rain picked up, the new sound of hail making the notes difficult to hear.

Folken sent his consciousness sweeping over the Mystic Valley, and one by one areas disappeared from his image as he rejected them. "Not there," he murmured to himself. "Not there, not there."

"Are you sure he's in the Mystic Valley?" Shays questioned.

"I'm sure of it. I can feel him. He's here somewhere." Folken pushed away a larger globe and pulled a small one forward to take its place. "I'm narrowing it down. Go an octave higher."

"All right." Shays hurriedly pushed several globes up to replace them with smaller ones previously floating at knee-level. The song continued, higher and faster. The chunks of hail grew larger and larger, several striking with enough force to send cracks spiderwebbing through the ceiling.

"Almost there, Dilandau. Almost there." Folken felt as though he was running through a maze with a clock ticking down. Why this sense of urgency? "Stop!" he ordered, and Shays dropped his hands. Folken kept up a steady _ping_ against one bell to freeze the image in place. "Is that where I think it is, Shays?"

"That's Last Snow," Shays answered, staring up at the image.

"Dilandau is there?" Folken mused. "If he's back there, why didn't we know?"

Shays bowed his head, thinking. "Can you show me what this young man looks like?" he asked slowly. Folken swept his hand across the bells, and the light changed from an image of Last Snow to an image of Dilandau's face as Folken remembered it, teeth bared in a vicious smile, red eyes flashing dangerously.

"Does he look familiar?" Folken asked. Shays lifted his head to the new picture.

"You're going to be very angry with me, Folken."

"What is it?"

A hailstone the size of a man's head shattered the ceiling and punched through the floor, letting more ice in to rain down upon them. The wind screamed fitfully, and the crystal bells exploded as hail struck them. Sharp shards sliced through the air, slicing through Folken's clothes and burying themselves in his skin. Shays lay on the breaking floor, blood running from a gash in his head. With a crack like bone breaking, the floor gave out beneath them. The intact bells remained floating in place, but the rest of the glass plummeted down to crash through the next level. Cracks ran through the walls, pieces dropping out and falling in. The Bell Tower was collapsing.

Folken's wings shot from his back, spraying feathers into the air that the wild wind swept away. He swooped down and caught Shays's arm, ignoring the hailstones that battered him. He closed his eyes, and the air around them turned white. Destiny cradled both men in its palm and lifted them into the sky. The wind howled with anger as the pillar of light dissolved.

OOOOO

Dilandau sighed, though he was not quite sure why. He was neither relieved nor content. It just seemed like the sort of thing one should do when submerging oneself to one's chin in hot water.

He had done it; he had finally found the one person in the Mystic Valley who came anywhere close to reasonable. (Folken and himself excluded.) He wasn't certain that he could trust Gwinnett yet, but he was willing to take the risk. It occurred to him that he had learned from General Adelphos that he should hate Draconians. With that long-buried memory new in his mind, he was eager to prove the general wrong.

He had never realized how happy the simplest things could make him. Gwinnett had taken him to the kitchen and given him _real_ food. (And more water, as he had been trapped in that room for at least a day with no food or drink, and was dehydrated and malnourished before that.) He had been shown to a bathing room after that, and, by his internal clock, it had taken him the better part of an hour to clean off all the dirt and green burn treatment that had collected on his body. The water in this little, wooden room had been altered to keep it from cooling, just like the warm, humid air. He could stay in as long as he wanted, and his clothes awaited him whenever he finished. Not the Drifters' rags, but his Zaibach armor, even his sword. Well, his diadem was in pieces on Shays's desk, but Gwinnett had given him everything else. He would not be content until he returned to Zaibach, but this was a definite improvement.

He lifted an arm from the water, gazing at the back of his hand, the movement splashing water over the side of the tub that trickled out through gaps between the boards of the wooden floor. His hand was pink from the heat of the water, but his burns had finally healed, now. The dragon bite was another matter. He had gotten so tired of Arias's attentions that he had told the other man that it was nearly gone, but truthfully, it had hardly healed at all. The skin of his shoulder was decidedly bluish, marked by purple lines where the mountain dragon's teeth had torn his skin, and cold to the touch. Actually, that cold was the only reason that he had been able to ignore the wound—it had gone numb. The hot bath water worked warmth back into it, though, and as he worked his arm around in a circle, icy tendrils of pain shot across his shoulders and down his arm to his fingers. _I'll have Folken take a look at it when he gets back. Damn, won't he be surprised when he finds out that I've been here the whole time._

He combed his fingers through his wet hair, working out the knots and tangles. He had needed a haircut before he left, and he knew that his hair grew rather quickly. It had started to curl at the back of his neck, as it always did when he let it get too long, though the water was sufficient to weigh it down. _Just how long have I been here, anyway? It can't have been that long! Then why has my hair grown this much?_

Well, he had wasted enough time getting himself clean. He stepped out of the bath, pulling the cover over the tub of water that blocked the spell to keep it hot, and dried himself off quickly. As promised, there were his clothes, awaiting him nicely folded in a basket just outside the door. The familiar weight of the armor lifted his spirits, reassuring him that things were, indeed, returning to normal. Draping a towel over his head, he opened the door and thrust his arms into the sleeves of his armor jacket, throwing the garment casually over his shoulders as he stepped out of the bathing room. He yelped and clawed it off, throwing the jacket to the floor. He had thought that his shoulder didn't really hurt much, but the weight of the armor pressing down on it was nearly too much to bear. _I guess things aren't so great after all._ At least it wasn't swelling up. But then, when a wound swelled, it was because of blood rushing to the area to cushion it, right? _Hot_ blood?

He draped the jacket over his good shoulder and massaged the other carefully as he walked. The heat from his hand helped with the pain a bit—or would it be better to leave it alone and let it go numb again? Somehow, numb didn't really seem like a good thing. Dilandau did not have much experience with recuperating from wounds. No one had ever gotten close enough to wound Dilandau Albatou in battle before.

Gwinnett had said that he would be in the library. Great. How the hell was he supposed to find the library? He still hadn't learned his way around, though he could at least find his way outside, now. Let's see…it was upstairs, he knew that much. Nothing returned his confidence like feeling the slap of his sword against his thigh once again!

"No!" a high-pitched voice shrieked. "No! No! Can't!"

Dilandau smirked. Well, the little demon child came in handy for once. He followed the sound of her fitful voice down the hallway, and it led him to the library.

"No! You can't do that!" Jay pounded her fists against the window, shaking her head wildly. "You can't do that! You can't do that!"

Gwinnett pulled her back, catching her flailing arms. "My dear, what is the matter?" he asked, turning her around to face him.

"No!" Jay stomped her foot stubbornly, and her hand came around to slap Gwinnett in the face, knocking his glasses to the floor.

"Jay!" He gripped her shoulders sternly. You know that we don't hit people."

"Shays does!" Jay folded her arms stubbornly.

"Shays can go to hell," Dilandau interjected, pulling out a chair and sitting down, tossing his armor jacket on the table. Jay started at the sound of his voice.

"Don't like her!" she shrieked. "She smells like blood!"

"Damn straight. Stay away from me, kid." Dilandau pulled the towel off his head and began to dry his hair.

"What do you mean, 'she'?" Gwinnett crouched down to be on a more equal height with Jay. "Dilandau is a man."

"Get rid of her!" Jay insisted.

"Now, that wouldn't be very fair to Dilandau, would it?"

"Get rid of her!" Jay marched up to Dilandau in her odd, faltering way and gave him a good shove. "Go away!"

Dilandau groaned and doubled over, clutching at his shoulder. "Out of all the places you could have done that, why'd you pick there, you little freak?"

"Jay!" Gwinnett seized her wrist and pulled her away from Dilandau. "That is quite enough!"

"No!" Jay struggled against her father's grip. "No!"

With a flick of his wrist, Gwinnett held a syringe in his hand. He braced Jay's hand against the table and slid the needle into her arm. Dilandau's skin crawled as he watched the plunger descend, forcing the clear liquid out.

"You shouldn't use drugs to control people," Dilandau said quietly. "It makes them feel violated."

Gwinnett gave him a tired smile. "Sometimes it's for their own good, so that they don't hurt themselves."

Dilandau thought back to the Sorcerers, and their experiments that he had no memory of save an ominous feeling. "Many evil things are done under that excuse."

"But I am not an evil man, am I?" Gwinnett asked. The syringe disappeared, and Jay leaned heavily against her father.

"Sleepy," she murmured. Gwinnett helped her to a chair, where she obligingly sat down and fell asleep immediately.

"I don't know whether to be angry with her, or be happy that she used a few complete sentences just now. It's an improvement." He sighed. "Did you see where my glasses landed?" he asked Dilandau.

"At the base of the bookshelf by the last window."

Gwinnett retrieved his glasses, replaced them on his nose, sighed again, removed them, and began to bend them back into shape.

Dilandau stared at the sleeping Jay across the table. "What's wrong with her, anyway?"

Gwinnett opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when a pillar of white light shot down from the ceiling. It dissolved to reveal Folken lowering an unconscious Shays to the floor, both bleeding.

Folken looked up, smiling wearily. "I've finally found you, Dilandau," he said softly.

Dilandau stood, planting his hands on his hips. "Well, it's about damn time!"

OOOOO

This freakish little bonus was inspired by something mentioned in a review. Thank you, Phyllis-chan, for fanning the flames of my lunacy. Thank you also to my roommate, Maiden of the BH, whose Harry Potter book I stole without permission as reference to write this. (And for reading it over before I posted it.) Thank you to JK Rowling for writing ridiculously easy-to-read books, so I was able to find the scenes I needed in no time. Hell, thank you to the makers of Dragon Half, for writing the song "Watashi no Tamagoyaki", which I listened to while writing this to set the mood, and to the Bigelow tea company, whose Earl Grey kept me awake well after midnight in order to write this.. Er…you may not understand part if you're not familiar with Sorcerer Hunters, but Rowling gave me an opportunity too good to pass up with that last dessert that Ron listed. Needless to say, the rating for the rest of the story also applies here.

**-La Ra Everlasting Frost Mini-Adventure #1Free the Drifters!-**

(A Chibi-Folken sits sullenly at a large dinner-table with an also-superdeformed Shays and Jay, all of whom are wearing red-and-gold-striped neckties over their regular clothes. Folken has buckteeth, Shays has red hair, and Jay is wearing a pair of glasses.)

Chibi-Shays: "Why aren't you eating, Folken?"

Chibi-Folken: "I can't eat this food! It was made by slave labor!"

(Chibi-Shays blinks)

Chibi-Shays: "So?"

Chibi-Jay: "La, ra, la, ra, la—"

Chibi-Shays: "Shut up, Jay!"

(Chibi-Shays pulls out an electric fan and sets it opposite Chibi-Folken, wafting the smell of the food at him)

Chibi-Shays: "Look at all this great food! Pickled cow tongues, sea urchins with tomato sauce…"

(Chibi-Folken turns green)

Chibi-Folken: "You've just given me another reason to not eat…"

Chibi-Shays: "How about dessert, then? Look, now, treacle tart! Chocolate gateau!"

(A red-haired woman and a bodybuilder, both superdeformed, run in. The red-haired woman pounces on Chibi-Folken)

Chibi-Chocolat: "Darling!"

(The bodybuilder flexes his muscles)

Chibi-Gateau: "Look at meeeeeee! Look all you want!

(Chibi-Chocolat takes a good look at Folken)

Chibi-Chocolat: "You're not Darling!"

(They run away. Chibi-Folken and Chibi-Shays both sweatdrop. Chibi-Jay kicks her feet)

Chibi-Jay: "La, ra, la, ra, la, ra…"

Chibi-Shays: "SHUT UP!"

Later

(Chibi-Folken enters the room carrying a box. Chibi-Shays and Chibi-Jay both look up)

Chibi-Shays: "What'cha got in there?"

(Chibi-Folken dumps the box out onto the table—it contains about fifty purple, teardrop-shaped badges bearing the acronym S.P.D.W)

Chibi-Shays: "Spdw?"

Chibi-Folken: "Woah! How did you manage to say that? There's no vowels!"

Chibi-Shays: "I took lessons."

Chibi-Jay: "Spdw! Spdw!"

(Chibi-Jay begins to eat the badges)

Chibi-Folken: "It's an acronym for Society for the Promotion of Drifters' Welfare!"

Chibi-Shays: "Shouldn't that be S.F.T.P.O.D.W, then?"

Chibi-Folken: "No! Anyway, I wanted to be The Organization to Put an End to the Outrageous Abuse and General Not-Nice Treatment of Our Fellow Descendants of Atlantis and Campaign for a Change in their Social Status Because They're Really Just Like Us and Perfectly Capable of Guiding Their Own Destinies, I Know Lots of People Back in Zaibach Who Do it and it Works Out Pretty Swell…but I couldn't fit it on the buttons, and O.P.E.O.A.G.N.N.T.F.D.A.C.C.S.S.B.T.R.J.L.U.P.C.G.T.D.K.L.P.L.U.B.Z.W.P.S is even harder to say."

Chibi-Shays: "Wouldn't it be T.O.T.P.A.E.T.T.O.A.A.G.N.N.T.O.O.F.D.O.A.A.C.F.A.C.I.T.S.S.B.T.R.J.L.U.A.P.C.O.G.T.O.D.I.K.L.O.P.B.I.Z.W.D.I.A.I.W.O.P.S?"

Chibi-Folken: "No! You don't include particles in acronyms!"

Chibi-Shays: "Oh……But, the Drifters like being enslaved!"

Chibi-Folken: "That's just because they don't know any better!"

(Chibi-Dilandau pops in)

Chibi-Dilandau: "Listen to him, asshole! Slavery sucks!"

(Chibi-Dilandau flips Chibi-Shays the finger)

Chibi-Folken: "Did you hear something?"

(Chibi-Folken turns around just after Chibi-Arias pops in and drags Chibi-Dilandau away)

Chibi-Jay: "Don't feel good…"

(Chibi-Folken looks at the table)

Chibi-Folken: "Where did my badges go! I spent a long time fate-altering those!"

(Chibi-Jay throws up on Chibi-Shays)

Chibi-Folken: "…..oh. Crap."

owari

(fanfare)

xFoxfirex: I'm glad you're enjoying it! Glad you like Jay; I'm always unsure as to whether my original characters are fitting in or not.  
InvaderRed: (salutes) I'll do my best!  
Permetaform: Good to hear from you again! Thank you!  
Black-Inque: Yep, a city made of glass. That means that none of the people who live there are allowed to throw rocks. (Okay, lame joke.)  
I don't remember: No! Don't get sick! I'll update as soon as I can!  
Cala Akina Morushiku: Well, under the refine-my-search drop-down menus, it's listed as a Dilandau and Folken fanfiction. (evil grin) Whoever said that the story was supposed to revolve around Dilandau's rescue? Nya…I'm not making any sense…so I'll shut up and move on.  
Spinereader: I did that to Folken on purpose. Being back in the Mystic Valley and seeing the people there again is making him very nostalgic, and he was acting like he used to when he was younger. As Shays noted, he was being Folken, and not Strategos. A temporary lapse. The guy's gotta have fun every once in awhile, right?  
Jhaylin: I went with some of both!  
Chiazmo: Glad you liked it!  
Phyllis Nodrey: I don't remember how much of your review I answered by e-mail…so I'll just assume that I answered it all. Did you like Keisho? Whether he appears again will pretty much be determined by everyone's reaction to him.  
Macky: Will do! 


	15. Chapter 15: Strange Ice

Mai Tenshi- I'm glad you're enjoying it so much! I'm especially happy that you like Jay and Arias; I always get nervous when I insert original characters. Ooh, a golden ticket! (snatches) That was an awesome book and an awesome movie.  
Aaya- (Rubs hands together evilly) Yes, poor Dilly…  
Maiden of the BH- Sorry again that I've been out of contact with you for so long. Thank you for pointing out all my typos and errors!  
Faraday- You were in Japan! (Jealous) Glad you're still reading!  
Casa Circe- Don't worry, I didn't read Harry Potter 4 (or any Harry Potter but the first, actually) until long after I started writing this story. Maiden of the BH can testify to that. If I'm going to rip off somebody else's work, it's going to be someone better at writing than Rowling…(coughcoughKeeperoftheDragonTHWhite)  
Izzy- Kyaa! Everybody's enjoying my original characters! Yippee! Happy to have brought you back to the Escaflowne fanfiction world!  
Cala Akina Morushiku- No worries. I can relate to being busy. Ouch, a scratched cornea sounds painful. I've had a stye (spelling?) in my eye for two or three weeks now, and it's bugging the hell out of me. Will keep writing!  
I don't remember- That seemed to be the moment that a lot of people were waiting for. Thus the title. I'm afraid it's not spring anymore…but don't get a cold! I'll try to update faster!  
Coffee and Cyanide- Ooh, if not writing is what it takes to get lots of reviews…no, just kidding. Thank you for reviewing! It really means a lot to me that you're enjoying it!  
Permetaform- You're welcome!  
BlackInque- Yes, Shays is a bastard. But so is Dilandau…is the story big enough for two bastards? Guess we'll find out. Glad you liked the bathtub scene. It always amuses me to imagine Dilandau doing things like bathing and eating, just because they're so ordinary and he's so…not.  
Phyllis Nodrey- French silk pie! (devours) You liked Dilandau slapping himself in the face? Perhaps I should have him do it again…Yes, Dilandau was thinking of the Madoushi. And Jay is Shays's twin. Yes, 'tis Welsh! Fake Welsh! Like Astrynaufff the Majestyck!  
Macky- Will do!  
Chiazmo- I thought we should have a look-see at what everybody's doing back in Canon-Land, but we'll be going back to the Mystic Valley in the next chapter, methinks. 

A/N: This chapter of La Ra Everlasting Frost has been brought to you by Lexapro. Celexa, Xanax, and Ambien. If you know what those are, and especially if you've been in contact with me, you'll understand why this chapter has been so long in coming, and why it's a bit shorter than and not nearly as polished as the rest. I'm on the mental mend now (I think), so I'm hoping to get future chapters up sooner.  
Oh yeah, and check out my deviantART account... continues to irritate me daily, and I've been thinking about moving all my writing there...or maybe I'll run both at the same time...depends on what whoever's actually reading thinks.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 15 – Strange Ice**

"I think it's a little warmer now," Chesta observed. "Should I try again?" 

Gatti sighed. "Why not?" It beat sitting there staring at each other, which was pretty much all they had been doing for the past few hours. By crawling through the air ducts, Chesta had checked up on most of their fellow Dragon Slayers, and found them just as stuck in their rooms as he and Gatti, their doors frozen shut. The ice was melting, slowly but surely—and it was the slowly that was the problem. They had tried to gather together, but Chesta and Guimel were the only two who were actually small enough to climb up into the ceiling. They had settled for carrying messages between rooms, until the cold metal made their hands and feet begin to go numb, and Guimel was sneezing from the dust collected in the air ducts. They could only wait until the mysterious ice had melted enough to let them out.

"This is really weird," Chesta said to himself, for the hundredth time that day. Not that Gatti had been counting or anything—well, he didn't have anything better to do, either. Chesta did have an amusing tendency to repeat himself when he was nervous. "I mean, ice just doesn't do this!"

"Maybe if we had flown through a bad blizzard with all the hangar doors and windows open in winter," Gatti suggested. "And dumped buckets of water of the floor. And splashed them on the ceiling. And—" he didn't bother finishing his sentence; Chesta had already pulled himself up into the ceiling, and Gatti just caught a glimpse of his bare feet disappearing.

In the ceiling, Chesta crawled to the nearest vent with a soft sigh. "Please let me out this time," he told it as he approached. "We need to start getting things done!" He pulled at the grate and heard a satisfying crack. "Finally!" Bracing himself as best he could in the narrow space, Chesta gripped the cold metal and pulled with all his might. "Please come free!" he begged it. "Please come free—nyaah!" All at once the grate tore away from its place with a great resounding _crack_, whipping up to smash Chesta in the face and knock him over with an equally great and resounding _thud_.

"Chesta?" Gatti's voice echoed down the air vent. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"Ow." Chesta groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I'm all right. I've finally found a way into the hallway. I'll see if I can get you out!" Deftly he slipped through the hole and dropped down to the hallway floor.

The ice underfoot nearly caused him to lose his balance and fall once again. He cast a glance down both ends of the hallway, and realized that he would not be able to free Gatti; at least, not yet. With the walls and floor encased in ice, he couldn't even touch the door's handle, much less pull it open. "Don't worry, Gatti!" he called up, "I'll get everyone free somehow!"

He received no reply; he wasn't sure if his voice had made it all the way to his friend or not.

Now, how to get everybody free? The ice would melt on its own—but in the bowels of the floating fortress, it could take days, or even weeks. Longer than the Dragon Slayers could survive trapped inside their rooms.

"Lord Dilandau would know what to do if he was here," Chesta remarked with an unhappy sigh. "Well, let's think about this logically. I've only got three ways to go—up, left, and right." He had come from up, so climbing back into the ceiling would not do him any good. (He wasn't certain that he could jump high enough to reach the vent he had dropped down from, in any case." He could see that the door to his left had frozen shut. Process of elimination. Right.

He made his way carefully down the hallway, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them for warmth. He usually had no difficulty with icy weather, but then, he usually had autumn in between summer and winter to grow accustomed to the changing weather. This sudden cold after the recent heat had come as quite a shock—not to mention that his pajamas were not decent cold-weather attire!

The hallway he passed into through the open doorway brought another shock. Unlike the hallway of the Dragon Slayers' rooms, this one had a strip of unfrozen floor running down the middle of it, a strip just the perfect width for a man to walk down. Chesta glanced down bothsides of the hallway, and found that the clear floor continued through both open doors.

"If I didn't know any better, I would almost swear that it was a path," he mused to himself, "like all this was done by a person. But that can't be right. There's no mind behind the weather." Well, he didn't know that for certain. He had heard all sorts of frightening rumors about Zaibach's Sorcerers, and the Dragon Slayers all knew that Dilandau, much more knowledgeable about such things, hated the Sorcerers more than anything else. Still, he didn't think that they were so powerful that they could actually control the weather—and if they could, they certainly wouldn't use that power to attack one of their own country's floating fortresses!

Or would they? Chesta's face paled slightly as his flights of fantasy continued. What if this was a warning to the crew of the Vione for their failure to locate Dilandau and the Dragon? Would they be disposed of like outdated models of guymelefs if they continued to produce no results?

No, he decided, that could not be so. Perhaps the gray-armored Vione soldiers were disposable to a point, but the Dragon Slayers were an elite unit. They and Folken were most definitely not disposable.

Reassured, Chesta started down the unfrozen path. Perhaps it was not the entire Vione that had frozen. Perhaps the Dragon Slayers' quarters alone had experienced some wild malfunction of their environment-control systems. That idea faded quickly as he trotted along the familiar hallways made unfamiliar by the sheets of ice. That would have been too simple a solution to hope for.

He had never heard the Vione so quiet before. _Somebody_ always had duties of some sort, no matter what the hour. A floating fortress could not fly itself, after all!

That realization unsettled him even further. Who was flying the Vione? Even if the bridge crew had gotten trapped on the bridge, could they use controls covered in ice? The fortress could float itself right into the side of a mountain!

_No_, Chesta thought to himself, _I'm not going to go there_. If the controls were frozen and the Vione was going to fly itself into the side of a mountain, he could do nothing about it. He mustn't allow himself to fret over things that he could not change. He needed to save all of his energy and concentration for the things he could do, and needed to do—like freeing the rest of the Dragon Slayers.

The clear trail through the ice abruptly forked, and Chesta slowed to a stop. These parts of the Vione, at least, he knew even better than the streets of his own hometown. The right led only one way—to the prisoners' cells. And the left, that could go in several directions. That would take a man to the infirmary, or the stairs down to the eating hall, or maybe even to—to the hangar.

"No!" Chesta exclaimed, though no one could hear him. "It can't!" He started down the left path at a sprint, worry sending fresh adrenaline jolting through him. He feared that he knew where this path would go all too well. He was used to running this way, hastily fastening his uniform's clasps and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the other Dragon Slayers' footsteps joining his in a chorus of pounding upon the metallic floor. It felt strange to run this way without having been awakened in the middle of the night by the warning klaxons whining into his peaceful dreams. His need now was just as urgent as those times, though.

As Chesta had feared, the trail ended at the guymelef hangar. Unlike the halls he had sprinted through, the large room had not a single crystal of ice clinging to it, though a thin layer of water from the melting doorway did cover the floor. Even worse, the Escaflowne was conspicuously absent from its place. Chesta could see no trace of it in the sky through the open hangar doors. Van had escaped in his guymelef, leaving the frozen Vione behind long ago. Without any idea of the direction in which he had gone, they could never hope to re-capture him, even if Chesta _could_ manage such a feat alone. He would return to his friends in Asturia and tell them of Zaibach's aggression—oh, how had things gone so horribly wrong? All the ice on the Vione seemed to have only one purpose—to engineer Van's escape. Had the King of Fanelia somehow devised this? Conjured the ice? Was he some sort of magician?

Chesta kicked at the water on the floor, tears springing to his eyes in frustration. What was he to do when he had a disaster and yet no enemy to fight against to solve it?

Then he became aware of a growing darkness in the sky and turned to face the open hangar doors. Blotting out the fluffy, innocent-looking clouds was the decidedly un-innocent-looking shape of another Zaibach floating fortress. Chesta even recognized the fortress upon sight, and knew that it might offer help. The downside was that its familiar appearance was usually not a welcome sight to the Vione's crew, especially to Lord Dilandau. The floating fortress with the gape-mouthed demon's head sculpted into the side was unmistakably the Cacus, the flagship of Bronze General Gein Adelphos.

The fortress grew closer and closer until it blotted out Chesta's view of the sky completely. He heard the snap and thunk of docking cables firing, and a bridge slid from the Cacus to connect the two hangars. For a moment there was only the sound of shuffling armor, and then General Adelphos strode forth from the new fortress's dark depths, flanked by gray-armored soldiers. His booted feet splashed onto the Vione's floor, and his hard eyes scanned the condition of the hangar before finally coming to rest upon Chesta—dirty, mussed, clad in his pajamas instead of a proper uniform. Chesta stared at the general for a long moment before remembering himself and dropping into a kneeling bow, the cold water on the floor seeping into his clothes and chilling him even more.

General Adelphos planted his hands on his hips, surveying the hangar again with a look of disgust before returning his gaze to the lone, cowering Dragon Slayer who looked more like a refugee than a soldier.

"Tell me, boy," he began in his rough voice, "what is the meaning of all—this?" He waved a hand at the wet hangar. Chesta gulped. Lord Dilandau had always blown off the general's presence, crossing the line to insubordination with mirth and enthusiasm, but none of the Dragon Slayers could hope to get away with such a thing, though they despised the general as much as their commander had. With Dilandau's presence no longer there to act as a shield, would Adelphos be free to suit action to words concerning his dislike of the Vione and its crew?

"I—I'm not entirely certain yet, General," Chesta began. "Lord Dilandau has been missing for some time, and—"

"And you mean to tell me that that monster's presence is the key to order on this fortress? I highly doubt _that!_"

"Strange things have been happening since he vanished, sir," Chesta continued, not daring to lift his forehead from the wet floor. "Some of the men wonder if something is haunting us. We Dragon Slayers don't believe it, of course, but I have heard a strange voice singing on the wind—"

"Bah!" Adelphos interrupted. "I've always known that this fortress was under less than adequate supervision." Chesta did not know whether that comment referred to Dilandau, or to Folken, or to both, but his brow furrowed in anger all the same. He was glad that Adelphos could not see his face. "This crew has gotten lazy," Adelphos continued. "It wouldn't surprise me at all if I found the entire fortress in disorder—"

"The entire fortress is frozen!" Chesta blurted out, jumping to his feet. Adelphos raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Impossible."

"If you don't believe me, General, just look. I'm the only one who's managed to get out of my room." Chesta glanced down at his dusty pajamas. "And I couldn't have done it in my uniform." _I wish Gatti were here instead of frozen in his room!_ Chesta thought desperately. He'd know how to handle General Adelphos!

Adelphos strode to the door frozen open, his booted feet splashing in the water on the floor. The surprised look on his face gave Chesta a certain amount of satisfaction.

"You see, sir?" Chesta asked, remembering to keep his tone respectful. "It's true. The Vione is frozen."

General Adelphos turned back to the lone Dragon Slayer, wearing a look only slightly less condescending.

"When I received the message that Dilandau had disappeared, I came immediately," the general began.

_He's making it sound like he actually cares about what happens to Lord Dilandau_, Chesta thought. _That would be a nice change!_

"But, I had no idea that things had gotten _this_ out of control!" Adelphos folded his arms. "Where is Folken? Why isn't he doing anything about all this?"

"I don't know where he is, sir," Chesta replied, bowing his head. "We've all tried to call him in his quarters and in his laboratory, but internal communications aren't reliable right now, and we can't find him. The ice must have done more damage to his systems than to ours, or maybe he's still asleep or too busy working on a solution to answer us—or it could be that he was caught by whatever froze us and it killed him. Sir."

"The latter would be quite a tragedy, wouldn't it?" Adelphos commented, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I never trusted him. A foreigner, waltzing into our country and becoming so important to the Emperor. It wouldn't surprise me if he somehow caused all this." Adelphos smacked gloved fist into gloved hand. "Why, I've served the Zaibach army ever since I could hold a sword, and what does it get me? A demon like Albatou to baby-sit!"

Chesta wisely held his tongue. He had always wondered how an outsider could become the Strategos of Zaibach, but Folken had never seemed suspicious or untrustworthy to him. A very mysterious man, and dangerous—but dangerous to Zaibach's enemies, not to Zaibach and its people! How many machines had Folken invented that now protected Adelphos's soldiers and Adelphos himself? And that comment about Lord Dilandau! He was quite demonic in battle, but he did not deserve the slander that Adelphos always sent his way!

"Will you still aid us in repairing the Vione and recovering Lord Dilandau, General?" Chesta asked, forcing his clenched fists to relax at his sides. Adelphos nodded.

"Not for the monster's sake, but for the Emperor's. The dragon must be found!"

"We had found the dragon, General," Chesta told him, hoping that the bit of news might help Adelphos to view the Vione's crew in a more positive light. "We had it captured. Its owner escaped with it when the Vione was frozen. Actually, the ice seems to have been designed for his escape, in a way."

"Well, then, it must be recovered!" Adelphos thundered, his voice echoing through the frozen halls.

Chesta bowed at the waist. "Then the Vione is under your command until we can find Lord Folken. What should I do?"

General Adelphos's face blanked, and Chesta had to stifle a giggle as he straightened. The man had no idea as to how to un-freeze a fortress, did he? Serving under Dilandau—as well as completing the often-tricky missions that the Dragon Slayers were often given—had gotten them used to improvising.

"May I make a suggestion?" Chesta asked. One look at the general's face told him that that had not been a good thing to say. What an unreasonable man! Even Lord Dilandau would take suggestions if they were good ones!

_Well, they say that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission_. Chesta decided that he had better not wait for an answer. He strode across the hangar to his Alseides unit, which had miraculously—or perhaps not—escaped the freezing. A good thing, too; all that ice could have damaged the guymelefs beyond repair.

His Alseides dropped from the ceiling, released from the claws that held it off the floor, and he maneuvered it carefully to the open doorway. It would not do to step on General Adelphos, tempting as it was!

_It's like Lord Dilandau always says_, Chesta thought to himself with a smile, _fire can fix anything_. He dropped to one knee, aimed a Crima Claw at the doorway, and fired the flame-thrower, sending a great gout of fire down the hallway. General Adelphos leapt aside as a cloud of steam floated up to condense on the cold ceiling and water gushed forth from the open doorway.

ooooo

Back safely aboard the Crusade, Allen handed Van a steaming cup of wine, which Van accepted gratefully.

"Thanks," he told Allen, peering into the cup as the steam wafted sweet into his face. "Is wine supposed to be hot?"

"Only in the winter," Allen told him with a smile. "But drink it anyway. You still look like you could use some warming up."

"I'm fine now!" Van retorted defensively, straightening. Allen leaned down and pulled the blanket off of Van's shoulders, revealing Van's bare arms still covered in goose bumps.

"Drink it," Allen repeated. Van pulled the blanket back over his shoulders with a scowl, sloshing wine over the rim of the cup. "And don't stain my floor."

"Thanks," Van said again, but with only a hint of sarcasm.

Allen sat down next to Van, propping one booted foot on their wooden bench against the wall and resting his cheek against the cool glass of the window. They had left the Zaibach floating fortress far behind; he could no longer see it.

"You're going to leave a smudge on your window," Van taunted. Allen frowned at him, and his brown eyes sparkled merrily over the rim of the cup.

"What happened on that fortress?" Allen asked, lifting his head. "The entire thing was frozen except for that pathway, your cell, and the guymelefs. It's almost like something was guiding us. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen."

"Me too." Van downed another gulp of wine and grimaced. "Gaah! This stuff is terrible heated up! It's all wrong!"

Allen rolled his eyes. "Drink it anyway."

"Drink what?" came a voice from the doorway. "Is Van drinking the strangest thing you've ever seen?"

"Hitomi!" Allen jumped up when he spied the girl in the doorway. "What are you doing up? You should be laying down!"

"I'm feeling a lot better now!" Hitomi declared, but her flushed cheeks belied that statement. Allen pressed a hand to her forehead and shook his head.

"Go back to bed."

"I want to stay here!" Hitomi insisted. "This involves me too! I want to help!"

Allen opened his mouth to argue, but the stubborn look on her face told him that she would shoot down any excuse he might come up with. "Well, sit down, at least," he said instead, ushering her to his place on the bench. Hitomi sat down, arranging around her the blanket she had taken with her from Castelo.

"Well?" she asked, looking up at Allen. "What was so strange?"

Allen leaned against the wall and explained to Hitomi the odd events that had surrounded the Zaibach floating fortress and the ease of Van's escape. By the end of the story, Hitomi was frowning thoughtfully.

"Things like that don't just happen," she noted.

"Obviously!" Van snorted.

"I mean," Hitomi continued, "that it has to be more than a little freak weather. Someone had to have done that on purpose."

"But, who could have done such a thing?" Allen argued. "To make that much ice in the middle of the summer would take technology that I don't think Zaibach even has!"

"I don't know how it happened," Hitomi said slowly, looking back and forth from Van to Allen. "But something is helping us, and I'll bet anything that it has something to do with Zaibach's lost soldier."

ooooo

Chesta shouldered his flame-thrower and gripped the metal railing hard, making his way up the slippery stairs as safely as he could. General Adelphos had, fortunately, approved of the use of fire to melt the ice that covered the Vione once he had seen how effectively it worked. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, after several hours of it, Chesta's dirty pajamas were soaked through and ruined, and his wet feet ached from the cold.

He and the soldiers aboard Adelphos's fortress had used guymelefs to melt what ice they could, but the giant machines could not fit in most hallways of the Vione. To thaw those, soldiers had been issued hand-held flame-throwers and now marched through the hallways, concentrating their attentions on doors and stairways. It would take a long time to melt out the entire fortress, but if they could regain access to all areas of the structure, free everyone who had been trapped, the process would go much more quickly.

Chesta had concentrated on freeing the other Dragon Slayers first, and as soon as they had all assembled, General Adelphos had given them a special task. They were to locate Folken, who would be the most likely to know what was happening. They spread out to search, some making their way to the bridge of the fortress, some to the communications rooms, and some—led by Gatti, who was very happy to be freed from his quarters—to the Strategos's personal room.

They left the un-freezing of the doorways and stairs to the Cacus's gray-armored soldiers, thawing only the doors which they needed to pass through and running as best they could over the ice-covered floors.

"How the hell did it even get up this far?" Dalet remarked sourly, clinging to the slippery railing as he ascended the even slipperier stairs slowly. "The door was stuck shut to this hallway!"

"I think we all have a lot of questions like that," Gatti told Dalet, finding a steady position and reaching down to help Chesta. "And I think we'll get some answers soon, once we find Lord Folken."

"And then Lord Dilandau!" Chesta added hopefully.

Finally struggling their way up the last set of stairs, the small group made their way down the hallway to the last door, the door that led to Folken's quarters. Gatti nodded to Chesta.

"Go ahead."

Chesta slung the flame-thrower off its shoulder strap and, with a weary "here we go again," pulled the trigger. Fire spouted from the weapon's nozzle, melting the ice that held the door shut fast. A cloud of steam wafted to the ceiling, where it condensed and froze, making icicles. Chill water poured down to the floor around their feet where it, too, would eventually freeze again. The sudden heat warmed the air around them, bringing some of the feeling back to their numb and clumsy fingers.

Chesta continued to melt the door free until Gatti lifted a hand for him to cease. Gatti and Dalet grasped the sliding door's handle together, braced themselves, and pulled with all their strength. The ice that still remained on the doorframe cracked, and pieces fell to break and scatter on the floor. Slowly, the door ground open.

The three tired Dragon Slayers nearly fell inside the room with relief. As cold as the metal floor of the Strategos's Spartan chamber was, it was still far preferable to ice on bare feet.

Gatti and Dalet shut the door, with more ease this time, in an attempt to keep the cold out. It only took one quick glance around the small room to tell them that Folken was not there.

Undaunted, Gatti punched at the buttons of a small speaker on the wall. "We had the farthest to go. The others are probably there by now." He leaned in toward the speaker. "Migel? How's it going there?"

Migel's voice answered him full of static. "No sign of him. You?"

"Nothing." Well, at least the ice hadn't damaged the Vione's internal communications completely after all. That in itself was a hopeful sign. Gatti punched another button.

"Guimel? Have you found him?"

Guimel answered mournfully. "No. No trace of Lord Folken."

Gatti sighed. "Where could he have possibly gone? He's in charge, he's supposed to be here for things like this!"

The speaker crackled to life with Migel's voice again. "Gatti, I've been in contact with the other soldiers while you were melting your way to Lord Folken's room. They're pretty spread out, and they can't find him anywhere in the fortress. Lord Folken has disappeared, just like Lord Dilandau."


	16. Chapter 16: Tell Me, My Friend

I don't remember: Nooo! Don't die! I'll update sooner!  
Iisjah: Gotta flash back to the other guys every once in awhile. They'll meet up again soon enough.  
Macky: Hai!  
Black-Inque2002: Yes, drugs are fun. (Insert sarcasm here.) I'd rather have some of Chesta's chicken soup.  
Maiden of the BH: Yes, two leaders missing now. Mwahaha! They're doomed!  
Phyllis Nodrey: Yeah, poor Chesta. He should lay the smack down on Adoofus later.

A/N: This chapter of La Ra Everlasting Frost is brought to you from London, England! If it takes awhile to get to the next one, it's because I've been spending too much time in Camden or at the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens.

**

La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 16 – Tell Me, My Friend

**

Dilandau stood, planting his hands on his hips. "Well, it's about damn time!" he exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what they've been doing to me around here? The next time I see that bastard Garufo, I'm going to kill him! I really mean it this time!"

"You think that Garufo sent you here?" Folken dropped to his knees on the floor next to the unconscious Shays. "The Sorcerers may alter Destiny a bit, but they really have no idea what they're playing with."

Dilandau let his further comments drop for the moment. For once, it seemed that the Strategos was in worse condition than he. Both Folken and Shays bled from cuts all over their bodies, red staining their white Draconian clothes. Even worse, a pair of white wings arched from Folken's back, folded neatly away behind him. The fact had not fully sunk in until Dilandau saw those wings, bringing shock like the bite of a mountain dragon—that his friend was a member of the Cursed Race. He recalled the words he had spoken to the darkness when Shays had sealed him away in the wing-cutting room alone. _Are you one of them too, Folken? Am I going to have to kill you, too?_

Dilandau's comments died on his lips as he stared at those white wings. Folken followed Dilandau's gaze, and abruptly the wings disappeared with a final flurry of feathers. Folken stood slowly, his cloak falling over his shoulders to hide his Draconian dress. The stoic mask returned, and he resembled more the Strategos that Dilandau remembered.

"We have many things to discuss," Folken said softly, noting the conflicting emotions on Dilandau's face, "but they must wait until later."

Dilandau nodded. "Later," he conceded. "I'll hold you to that."

"I do not doubt it."

Gwinnett, who had recovered his glasses, bent over his son on the floor. "What happened to you two?" he asked, dabbing at the gash in Shays's head with a cloth. "You didn't get all these wounds in the City of Glass, did you?"

"We certainly did," Folken replied, pulling off his cloak and draping it over the back of a chair before sinking down to sit with relief. "A most mysterious storm came up during our visit. When we woke in the morning, the entire city was covered in ice. While we were using the Bell Tower, a hailstorm of a severity I have never seen before destroyed it."

"Damn," Dilandau commented, slouching back into his own chair and propping his feet up on the table. "That's some bad luck." What the hell was the Bell Tower? Who cared about a bunch of bells?

Gwinnett froze in his ministrations to Shays, his face going pale. "The Bell Tower is destroyed?" he asked, eyes wide, disbelief in his voice. Who cared that much about a bunch of bells?

Folken traced a finger over a cut in his arm, and the wound closed at his touch, leaving behind only a smear of blood. "Indeed, it is. Completely shattered by hail while we were using it. You'll find some of the glass in Shays's wounds, I suspect." He pulled a shard of glass from his own arm, grimacing slightly.

Gwinnett pressed his lips together, but in a different way than haughty Shays always did, hands tightening around the cloth in worry. "And the city—covered in ice, you said?" he asked. Folken nodded, setting another thin piece of glass on the table beside him, and Dilandau smiled. Only Folken could carry on a normal conversation whilst pulling things from under his own skin.

"My goodness." Gwinnett's hands trembled, and he dropped the bloody cloth. "It's the Everlasting Frost. It's coming."

"That's exactly what Shays thought," Folken agreed.

Dilandau straightened. "What's the Everlasting Frost?" Now that these damn people had finally realized who he was, he could get some information out of them! Gwinnett opened and closed his mouth several times, then shook his head and pressed a hand to Shays's temple, calling upon his meager skills of Fate to heal the wound.

Folken looked to Dilandau. "The Everlasting Frost is a bit of history passed down from the descendents of Atlantis," he explained. "In short—it's the end of times. The world will be covered in ice, and snow-wraiths and wolves and mountain dragons will come to kill those who survive the cold. It's a never-ending winter that will destroy all living things."

Dilandau stared at him a moment. "You're not serious, are you?" Folken's face told him that he was quite serious. He had returned to being the Strategos, and the Strategos did not joke or jest. Dilandau burst out laughing.

"Surely you can't believe all that? It's summertime!"

"It's autumn here," Gwinnett interjected softly. Dilandau ignored him.

"We destroyed an entire country, dammit! Even if all that really does happen, do you think that we can't survive a little ice and a few rabid wolves?"

Folken did not respond, concentrating instead on healing his cuts and bruises. Dilandau frowned. Folken had never _ignored_ him before. "Hey," he said, trying to get the Strategos's attention. Folken pulled off a sandal to examine a cut in his foot. "Hey." Dilandau leaned across the table and prodded Folken in his organic shoulder. "Hey. _Hey!_"

Folken slammed his mechanical hand down flat upon the table, sending cracks running through the dark wood. Startled, Dilandau jerked back, staring at Folken with wide eyes. "I have taught you many things, Dilandau," he said stiffly, looking down at the floor. "But here in this place, you know little. Do hold your tongue about matters you do not understand!"

Dilandau blinked. Folken had never spoken to him in that manner before. "I'm not an infant, Strategos," he spat. "I know how the world works!"

"You know how half the world works," Folken corrected, still refusing to look at Dilandau. "In this half, you are an infant." He clenched his mechanical hand into a fist. "I will teach you. But for now, leave it be."

"But—"

"Leave it be!" Folken snatched his cloak from the back of his chair and vanished.

"Dammit!" Dilandau leaned his chair back on two legs and propped his feet up on the table again. "Why am I the only one who can't do that?"

"Because you haven't been taught, my dear boy," Gwinnett replied, sitting back on his heels and scraping his hair back out of his face. "You will know. You have the talent in you. I can feel it."

"I'm not a Draconian," Dilandau told him. Unless he had a Draconian or some distant relation long ago. No, that was impossible.

"That is something we will get into when we have less pressing problems to deal with," Gwinnett told him. Dilandau rested his hand in his cheek sullenly. "Don't worry about Folken," Gwinnett continued, offering up a smile. "He'll come around. He's just had the Bell Tower fall to pieces around him. He's worried. But it won't take him long to sort himself out, I imagine."

"Meh."

"Could I ask a favor of you?" Gwinnett ventured. Dilandau glanced down at him.

"What?"

Gwinnett nodded toward Jay, still sound asleep in a chair. "Would you take Jay to her room?"

"The damn girl hates me."

"She will remain asleep for several hours."

Dilandau sighed. "All right." Not for Jay, but for Gwinnett. He decided that he was beginning to like the man. Gwinnett was the only one trying to make him feel welcome in this strange country. Gwinnett—and Arias. The two were too much alike. Even looked a bit alike. Dilandau had never seen them together to compare them, but he was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to stand both at the same time.

Dilandau groaned inwardly as he stood, draping his armor jacket around his shoulders gingerly. He had tried to kill Arias earlier. Had the Drifter survived? No, probably not; it would take a miracle for anyone to survive a wound to the throat like that. Strange that he should feel even a twinge of remorse about it. Arias was just an odd, confused man. He didn't even have the sense to realize the injustice of the life he had lived; he was probably better off dead.

"Thank you," Gwinnett said softly, and when Dilandau looked over, he too had vanished, taking Shays with him.

"Well, let's go," he told Jay, knowing she would not answer. A good thing, that. If she woke while he was carrying her, she would probably try to tear his face off. Of course, that would be a good way to get her hands broken, but she would have no way of knowing that.

He lifted Jay carefully from the chair, mindful not of her but of his own wounded shoulder. It had gone numb from the cold of the bite again, and for that he was thankful, for he could hardly feel any pain carrying her. He had finally learned his way around the Drifters' back halls and kept to them, despite the realization that he could now walk freely about the castle. He made his way as quickly as he could to Jay's room and dumped the girl rather unceremoniously into her bed. He stared down at her a moment, her limbs akimbo, face buried in her pillow. "I guess she can't help it if she's crazy," he muttered. "Folken would kill me if she suffocated herself." He rolled her onto her back and straightened her arms and legs into a more comfortable sleeping position. "There. Now leave me alone, you stupid girl." He banged the door shut behind him, not caring if the sound woke her.

Shrugging off his armor jacket and slinging it over his good shoulder, he sauntered up the hallway. He should probably, he decided, find Folken and apologize. He wasn't really certain what he had to apologize for, but it seemed like a good idea. If he ever wanted to get out of this cursed place, he would have to stay on Folken's good side. It didn't seem in Folken's nature to leave Dilandau behind no matter how angry Dilandau made him, but Folken was acting a bit strangely and Dilandau wasn't taking any chances.

He paused outside the door to one of the guest bedrooms. This was the nicest one, he knew, and surely the Amaryllis family would have given it to Folken for his stay. Should he knock, or barge in? Why, he had never knocked before visiting Folken in his entire life! Trying the knob—it was indeed unlocked—Dilandau pushed the door open.

Two heads snapped up, but neither belonged to Folken. Arias, lying in bed, gasped and shrank away from Dilandau. Calantha jumped up from her chair beside him and stood between Dilandau and Arias, her arms stretched out protectively to her sides.

"No!" Arias pulled weakly at her arm, but she shrugged him off.

Dilandau blinked, his hand resting on the doorknob. "You're alive?" he asked in disbelief. "How?"

"Master Folken healed me," Arias answered fearfully. "Please, Dilandau, don't hurt Calantha." He propped himself up on one elbow, dark hair falling in his face. "You can have me. Kill me, but don't—"

"Oh, stop groveling!" Dilandau snapped, folding his arms and leaning in the doorway. "I'm not going to do anything to anybody!"

"You're not?" Calantha asked cautiously. Dilandau rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.

"If I'd come to kill you, you'd be dead already."

Calantha lowered her arms slowly. Arias tugged at the hem of her dress, and she sat back down in her chair next to him. "What did you come for, then?" Arias asked.

"Actually, I was looking for Folken." Dilandau closed the door, turning his back to the two Draconians for a moment. "I'm glad you lived," he said softly. He waited for a response. None came. Neither Drifter had heard him. Good. He turned back to the two, glad that his words had not carried.

"What did you come here for?" Arias asked again. "What do you want?"

What did he want? Dilandau considered the question seriously a moment. He did want something from Arias—to break him from the foolish stupor that Shays had put him in and show him how stupid he had been for all his life.

"I'm taking you back to Zaibach with me," Dilandau said finally. "I'm going to prove to you that you don't have to be a damn Artisan to control your life." Arias and Calantha's faces both blanked. Dilandau slapped himself in the face. "You two really are complete idiots," he muttered. "I'm setting you free and letting you control your own fate, you sheep!"

Arias pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the bed's headboard. "How can you do that?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief. "You're a Drifter."

"Do I look like a Drifter?" Dilandau asked, straightening and throwing his arms into his armor jacket's sleeves, forcing himself not to grimace.

"No," Calantha admitted slowly, "you don't." Arias nodded in agreement. Dilandau drew his sword, pointing at Arias, who flinched.

"I told you when we met—I'm no Drifter. I am Dilandau Albatou, commander of the Zaibach Empire's Dragon Slayers. Now that I'm in control again, I'm going to make that bastard Shays pay. I'll start by taking away something that he would not like to lose."

Arias trembled, staring so hard at the sword-point inches from his face that he nearly went cross-eyed. "Master Dilandau Albatou," he said, swallowing hard. "A powerful name."

"A powerful name," Calantha echoed.

"Damn right." Dilandau's lips curved into a wicked smile. "I've destroyed an entire country." He sheathed his sword. "Ruining one man should not be hard. And after him, that little freak, Jay—"

"No!" Arias cried. Dilandau frowned.

"Why shouldn't I have my revenge?"

Arias tossed off his blankets and climbed out of bed awkwardly, bowing and pressing his forehead to the floor. "Please, Master Dilandau, don't hurt them."

"Give me one good reason," Dilandau growled.

"I've known them all my life," Arias began. "Master Gwinnett, Mistress Anna, Master Shays, Mistress Jay—they're my family. Don't hurt my family," he begged. Her eyes filling with tears, Calantha joined Arias on the floor.

This was too much. "I tried to kill you," Dilandau reminded him. "What makes you think that I'll pay attention to anything that you want?"

Arias lifted his head, scraping his hair out of his face. "Because you're still here."

ooooo

Dilandau departed when the sun had begun to set. If not to his room, then to where had Folken gone? He could be anywhere in the huge building, or even in the surrounding forests. Folken had the ability to cross the enchanted stream that kept the slaves bound inside Last Snow. "Dammit, he could be anywhere in the Mystic Valley!" Or even back in Zaibach! He leaned against a door, pondering whether or not it would be worth even looking for the Strategos. Had his sour temper changed by now? Dilandau had never seen Folken in a bad mood before; he didn't know how long it would take for Folken to calm down.

Abruptly the door opened, and Dilandau tumbled down to the floor. Anna's face appeared over him.

"Oh!" Her curly, black hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned over him. "If I'd known you were going to fall in, I wouldn't have opened it." Dilandau pulled himself to his feet and worked his injured shoulder around in a circle.

"You're not helping anything, that's for sure," he muttered.

"What were you doing out there?" Anna asked, smoothing her skirts. "I would think you would avoid this place."

"Well, I was doing some thinking, too." Dilandau glanced over Anna's shoulder and realized that he had come back up the hallway to Jay's room. Awake again, the girl sat on the floor playing with a doll. At least, she had until Dilandau had entered. Now she ceased her playing, narrowing her eyes and glaring at him with all her small might.

"I would have avoided this place if I had been paying attention," Dilandau told Anna.

"What are you looking for?"

"Folken," he replied. "Do you know where he might be?"

Jay's doll sailed past Dilandau's head to bounce off the wall behind him. "Hate her!" she shrieked in a childlike tantrum. "Smells like blood! Get rid of her!"

"Jay!" Anna reprimanded. She gave Dilandau an apologetic glance. "He used to enjoy standing on the roof and watching the sky when he was with us before," she said. "You may find him there."

"Thanks." Dilandau spun on his heel as Anna retrieved Jay's doll and shut the door, trying to quiet her wailings.

He had never visited the roof before. He imagined that the Drifters could not find many excuses to go up there. With their clipped wings, they could not use it as a platform from which to fly away. It would make an ideal spot for a suicide attempt, and Dilandau had kept the idea in the back of his mind, noting the stairways which would lead up to the roof. He ascended the nearest one now, hoping that it would lead him to Folken.

It did. Dilandau found the Strategos standing alone upon the empty, black stones, gazing out across the forest. From what Dilandau could see in the sun's fading, red light, Folken had healed all of the wounds he had received at the collapsing Bell Tower. No, not Folken—he had become the Strategos fully once again, discarding his Draconian dress for the severe Zaibach uniform. No wings arched from his back; Dilandau could almost forget that he had ever seen them. He smiled with a soft sigh. For once, for the first time in a long time, a familiar sight.

"Strategos," he said. Folken turned to face him, silhouetted black against the sun and the glowing pink clouds as the warm wind rustled his cloak.

"You found me," Folken said, his voice betraying no emotion, just like the days before Dilandau had come to the Mystic Valley. "What do you want?"

"I want to go home," Dilandau told him. "I don't want to spend another minute in this damn place. Let's go."

"We can't go." Folken turned his back to Dilandau, once again looking out at the sunset.

"Why not?" Dilandau approached him softly, booted feet clicking hard on the stone beneath them, but not so hard as they had on the metal floors of the Vione. "There's nothing holding us here."

"There is," Folken replied. "Perhaps you can't see it."

"Then explain it to me," Dilandau replied through gritted teeth, his temper rising, "that I might see."

Folken looked down on the smaller man. "I do not believe that Shays will want to sell you. You've angered him greatly. He would rather break you, if I still know him well."

"So?" Dilandau exploded. "You're going to try to _buy_ me back, Strategos? You're a High Artisan, aren't you? Let's just get the hell out of here!"

"Not all things in life are bought with gidaru," Folken reminded him. "And these people are like my family, Dilandau," he explained as the sun dipped blow the tops of the trees. "I can't steal from them."

"Oh yeah?" Dilandau jabbed a finger at his own chest. "What does that make me, then? What am I to you? A pet? A monster, like I am to Adelphos?" "You see my predicament, then," Folken said softly, and a look of such pain crossed his face that, for perhaps the first time in his life, Dilandau honestly conceded. "No matter what I do, I will hurt my family."

"Take a look at my shoulder, then," Dilandau grumbled, shrugging out of his armor jacket and sitting down upon the cold stones. "Nobody's done a damn thing for it."

Folken smiled with relief before returning to his stoic mask. "That I can do." He knelt beside Dilandau, and with a thought a dancing flame appeared above them for light. "What happened to it?"

"I—"

"—oh." Folken cut him off, cupping the light in his hand and moving it closer. Strangely enough, it gave off no heat. "What were you doing around a mountain dragon?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Dilandau protested, resting his cheek in his hand as Folken's organic fingers moved over his shoulder. "The thing showed up in the vineyards. Shays said that it was my fault he couldn't get rid of it, and he made me kill it."

"That must not have taken long," Folken said with a small smile. A warm, wet rag appeared in his hand, and he pressed it against Dilandau's shoulder. Dilandau jerked and gasped—though the rag was plainly cool enough for Folken to touch with his bare hand, it felt like it had been soaked in hot oil against Dilandau's cold skin.

"Warn me before you do something like that, Strategos!"

"Brace yourself," Folken commented belatedly. Dilandau rolled his eyes. "Well, continue. I've seen you fight many a dragon before, and none of them have ever injured you."

"Yeah, well, this thing was smarter than the dragons we have back home." The numbness and the cold had begun to drain from his shoulder, bringing on a fresh wave of pain. "It nearly ate me. I killed it, but it scraped me in the shoulder."

"How long ago was this?" Folken inquired, taking the rag away and dropping it—it dissolved before it could touch the ground.

Dilandau frowned. "I'm not sure. Long enough for sunburn to heal, plus a few days." He hated to admit that he had actually lost track of the time he had spent away from his home.

"Odd. Mountain dragon poison shouldn't last this long." Folken pressed both his hands flat against Dilandau's shoulder, and Dilandau felt a strange sensation running through him—not unpleasant and wrong, as when Shays touched him with Destiny, but soothing and healing.

"As you can see, I've just had loads of fun and luck playing with the local fauna," Dilandau commented sarcastically. Folken withdrew his hands, sitting back on his heels.

"Well?" Dilandau touched his shoulder gingerly. "It doesn't feel any better."

"That's because it's not." Folken shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dilandau. I can't heal it."

Dilandau looked away to hide his disappointment. He had never before had an illness or injury that Folken could not somehow fix. "That's okay," he said, "I know you must be tired. After everything that you said happened at that Bell Tower and all."

"That's not quite it." Folken shifted to sit cross-legged. "I know how to heal it. I have the strength. I cannot. I cannot touch it. Something is blocking me."

Blocking him? Dilandau had little idea of what was going on, but it sounded bad. "So, what does that mean?"

Folken closed his eyes a moment. "Somebody else," he said softly.

"Huh?"

"Somebody else will heal you."

"Who?"

A roll of soft linen bandages appeared in Folken's hands. "You'll heal yourself, I imagine. Just don't strain yourself too much, and your body will wash out the poison on its own."

"And how would you know that?" Dilandau jeered. "I thought you High Artisans always healed yourselves whenever you got hurt."

Folken coughed. "I may have found myself in a similar predicament before I had the skills to heal with Fate."

"And those who did wouldn't heal you?"

"To teach me a lesson." Folken began winding the bandages around Dilandau's shoulder.

"Arias used gauze."

"Did he?" Folken chuckled. "Shays probably wouldn't give him anything else."

Both men fell silent as the sun finally disappeared, allowing the stars to rise into the sky.

"Folken?" Dilandau asked again.

"Yes?"

"What's the Violet Order?"

Folken dropped the roll of bandages, and the free end began to unwind itself from Dilandau's shoulder. Dilandau frowned.

"What? What's the matter? Is it not polite to talk about or something? Shays sure speaks freely enough about it."

Folken returned to the task of bandaging Dilandau's shoulder. "I had hoped to avoid speaking of it."

"Why?" Dilandau twisted his head around to look at Folken. "I want to know. You owe me that much. I know this: that High Artisans wear cloaks and Artisans don't, and that the colored lining denotes Order. That means that you're in the Violet Order too. But what does all that mean?"

Folken finished bandaging Dilandau's shoulder and stood. "Done. Just keep it warm; that will help it heal more quickly."

"Folken!" Dilandau said in a warning tone, standing and draping his armor jacket around his shoulders once more, "you're not getting away from me! Answer my question!"

Folken sighed, then turned back to Dilandau, gesturing for his conjured light to hover near his face. "This," he began, pointing an organic finger at the teardrop on his cheek, "is called a kismet mark. All children who have the ability to touch Fate are tattooed with it as soon as possible."

"And those people are the Artisans," Dilandau interjected.

"Yes." Folken turned the streaks of purple in the corners of his eyes. "These are the marks of a High Artisan. A High Artisan is never to show himself in public or before Drifters without his cloak, but if something should happen to his cloak, this ensures that his status will still be recognized. An Artisan is tattooed with them once he has passed his tests for entry into an Order."

"So that's why you two always wear those things," Dilandau mused. "I'm still following you, keep going."

Folken sighed again. "All High Artisans specialize in a specific area of Destiny manipulation, the Orders, denoted by colors. Those in the Emerald Order work with the plants. When a plague infected the grape vines, Gwinnett contacted a member of the Emerald Order to heal them."

Dilandau nodded. "That makes sense."

"Those in the Brown Order work with structures, with buildings. I suspect that they are calling as many of their members as they can to the City of Glass to repair the damage from the hailstorm," Folken continued. "Those in the Cerulean Order work with those plagued by illnesses of the body. They're doctors."

Dilandau folded his arms. "I don't need a run-down of every profession in the Mystic Valley, Strategos, I just want—wait, you said ill of the body? What other kind of ill is there?"

Folken looked away. "We of the Violet Order work with those who are plagued by illnesses of the mind."

Dilandau understood at once. "Jay."

"Yes. Shays joined the Violet Order attempting to learn how to help his sister. He has not yet succeeded."

Dilandau snorted. "A lot of good _you_ did her. You've been in Zaibach with me for all these years that Shays has been working on that little freak."

"I did not join the Violet Order for Jay," Folken said, refusing to meet Dilandau's gaze.

_What?_ "Why did you join, then?" Dilandau asked. "I'd think that some other Order would be more suited to leading an army."

Finally, Folken looked up at him. "I joined the Violet Order because, at the time I was to choose the direction in which to refine my studies, General Adelphos made mention to me of a mentally unstable young man who would be entrusted to my care once I returned from my mysterious journeys."

Dilandau blinked. "You think I'm crazy?" He frowned. "I know that Adelphos thinks I am, but I didn't know that you did, too!"

"No, Dilandau. I don't think that you're insane. I made that decision before meeting you." Folken rested a hand on Dilandau's uninjured shoulder. "But I made it for you all the same. I could have joined the Crimson Order and become a powerful warrior, but I did not. I know you must have had your doubts about me, after all you've seen here, all the secrets you've uncovered. But do not doubt my friendship, Dilandau, or my concerns for you."

"Pretty words, Strategos." Dilandau looked up at the sky, at the moon that had begun to rise, wading bright through the softly sparkling stars. "You're good with them."

"It is not lightly that I tell you these things. Even the Emperor does not know of the Mystic Valley. You are the first person I have revealed anything to."

"It'd be a little hard to keep me in the dark at this point, now, wouldn't it?" Dilandau's eyes moved across the sky to the Mystic Moon, always in the heavens, but closer to the horizon than back in Zaibach. "So, how did you get here?" he asked. "The first time, I mean."

Folken smiled, removing his hand from Dilandau's shoulder. "When we have more time, I'll show you."

"Show me?" Dilandau screwed up his face in confusion.

"Never mind for now. After several months in the study of science with the Emperor, I asked for a leave of absence to search for the Mystic Valley. I had found a possible location in my books, and reason to believe that I would find much information helpful to the Emperor's quest."

"And he let you go?" Dilandau asked. "A lot of people have tried to find the Mystic Valley, and none of them ever returned."

"But none of them had the blood of the dragon-people in their veins," Folken countered. Dilandau shrugged his agreement. "I began my search in the forests of Fanelia. After several days, finding myself unable to locate what I had hoped for, I grew frustrated."

"You didn't have any problems with the land dragons?" Dilandau taunted. Folken opened and closed his mechanical hand.

"I had learned to deal with them by then. Do stop interrupting me, or I'll never finish my story."

"Sorry."

"I was just about to give up and return home when I found myself in a field before two mountains. My mother had told me that she met my father in such a place, and I could feel that it was a place of destiny. I sat down to wait. When the moon and the Mystic Moon rose between the mountains, I was surrounded by a white light and lifted from the ground."

"And it put you down in the Mystic Valley," Dilandau ventured. Folken nodded.

"Right in this very forest you can see from the rooftop. Shays found me and brought me home with him."

"And why didn't they think _you_ were a Drifter?" Dilandau argued.

"I was conscious, for one," Folken told him. "I'm a Draconian. We can read the flow of Destiny in each other just as you can read the words in a book. Gwinnett tells me that you have the talent, and I do believe him, but finding it is like trying to read invisible ink."

"I think I get it." Dilandau scratched his head. "I think."

"Good."

"Thank you for telling me." Dilandau shoved his arms into the sleeves of his armor jacket as the night air grew more chill. "You are going to get me out of here, aren't you, Folken?"

"No matter what I have to do in the end," Folken vowed, "I will take you home."

ooooo

The door to the library eased open slowly. Gwinnett looked up from his book to see two violet eyes peeking in at him through the crack between door and doorway.

"Jay, my dear child!" he exclaimed, setting his book aside and opening his arms, "come in and sit with me!"

Jay pushed the door open happily, staggering over to her father. Gwinnett lifted her easily and settled her in his lap. "Tell me what you did today. Did you play with Shays or Folken?"

"La, ra," Jay sing-songed, kicking her feet and twisting a strand of hair around her finger, "la, ra, la, ra…"

Gwinnett chuckled. "You've been doing that a lot lately, haven't you? Where did you learn that from? Did Folken teach it to you?"

"…la, ra, la, ra…"

Gwinnett smiled and kissed her temple, smoothing her black curls. "Well, never mind. It's a nice little song."

Jay giggled and threw her arms around her father's neck, tracing the elaborate carvings on the back of his chair with one finger.

"…la, ra, la, ra…"

Behind them, a window swung quietly open.

"…la—"

A long icicle sprouted in Jay's hand, her innocent features contorting into a wicked smile.

"—ra!"

She plunged the icicle into Gwinnett's back, driving it down until the tip emerged from his chest, spearing him through the heart. Gwinnett blinked, stunned; his dead body slumped to the side, spilling Jay to the floor. Staring about the room, utterly bewildered, Jay began to wail at the top of her lungs. 


	17. Chapter 17 Apology Accepted

BlackInque – Maaaaaaybe. Hee hee!  
Mai Tenshi – Thank you! Yes, there is such a thing as hot wine. Hot wine with various spices used to be a very common wintertime drink. Not so common now, but I think it's tasty. Think wassail, only alcoholic.  
Hopper-chan – If you liked Gwinnett, you're gonna be mad at me after you read this one…  
Granny Smith – Thank you!  
Faraday – Yes, many things are falling…ice is falling…people are falling over…Sakura's bank account is steadily dropping…England is expensive! Spinereader: (Rubs hands together) I love plot twists! Unfortunately, I think I chose a bad combination of them to reveal in this chapter…I hope it's still all right. London is wonderful, with the exception that I've been perpetually sick since I got here. But luckily, codine is over-the-counter, so that makes up for it!  
I don't remember – Wow. I'm glad you liked him that much!  
Casa Circe – Thank you! Even though I'm not finding as much spare time to write, a lot of the things I've been doing are quite inspirational…if you want a failsafe cure for writer's block, get yourself a sandwich and a bouquet of lilies, take the train to Oxford, take the hour-long hike out to Tolkien-sama's grave, leave him the flowers, and eat lunch on the grass with him. It was an amazing experience.  
Equinox – Arigatou gozaimasu!

A/N: Let's see…since the last chapter, Sakura has been to various London landmarks, touched the stones at Stonehenge, interviewed "Dr. Watson", drank water from Bath, toured two castles, seen two performances at the Globe Theatre (and nearly had her virginity sold by one of the characters), eaten lunch at J.R.R. Tolkien's grave and dinner at The Eagle and the Child, and annoyed the hell out of Alan Rickman. This chapter was finished on the train ride home from Wales, so the use of "Caerdydd" is in honor of that. Sakura loves Wales. She's vowing to move there now.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 17: Apology Accepted**

Dilandau's head jerked around as he heard a sharp shriek pierce the still night. "That would be Jay, wouldn't it?" he asked, glancing toward Folken. Folken, however, had not obliged by remaining where Dilandau had left him. Dilandau turned and saw him running for the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"Jay," Folken answered matter-of-factly. Dilandau slapped himself in the face.

"Oh, yes, silly me! Let's all go dashing away whenever the brat throws a tantrum!" Dilandau set his face in a scowl. "Which happens every half an hour on the mark."

"I don't hear anyone calming her down. She might be alone, she might have hurt herself," Folken told him with a shake of his head before disappearing into the building. Dilandau rolled his eyes, but ran after Folken, banging the door shut behind him and taking the stairs in twos.

"Dammit, I hate children," he muttered to himself, catching a glimpse of the hem of Folken's cloak as it slid around another corner. "I hate children, and I hate women, and now I remember why!"

The air in the hallway below had taken on a chill, which was not unusual in the night for a stone building, a chill that Dilandau quickly dismissed as owing to the sinking sun—except that it faded before they had even reached the library. Jay's screams did not, however, fade so quickly. Dilandau grimaced and considered putting his fingers in his ears as he ran. He would be happy when he no longer had to put up with the girl's fits giving him headaches. He was certain he would be suffering hearing loss by the time he made it back to Zaibach.

The door to the library stood ajar, and Folken pushed it away as he dashed in, nearly causing it to rebound off the wall into Dilandau. Dilandau jumped and slapped it aside.

"Watch it, Strategos!"

Folken's steps slowed, and then he stopped, blinking in stunned silence. Jay sat spraddle-legged on the floor, hiding her face in her hands, tears dripping between her fingers as she rocked back and forth, wailing at the top of her lungs. Blood stained the front of her white dress. Gwinnett sat slumped oddly to the side in his chair by the table, his dead eyes wide and staring in surprise. An icicle, thrust through his chest from behind, dripped water and blood down onto the floor.

Dilandau heard a new shout behind him and turned to see Shays and Anna standing in the doorway. Although pale, Shays looked quite well again, fully recovered from the incident at the no-longer-existing Bell Tower. It was Anna who had shouted, and pressed a hand to her mouth in shock. Her eyelids fluttered, and her knees buckled beneath her as she fainted. Shays caught his mother and lowered her to the floor as Folken approached Gwinnett and Jay.

Taking the whole scene in stride—he had seen many more hideous deaths, and had caused a fair number himself—Dilandau walked to the open window and pulled it closed.

"The Everlasting Frost," Folken murmured, touching the icicle gingerly. Dilandau eyed Gwinnett's body, considering the steep angle of the icicle, the height of Gwinnett's shoulders sitting, and the height of the window.

"I don't think so," he commented calmly. "Anything coming in through the window should have hit the back of the chair. The chair is fine." But Gwinnett was not. Gwinnett had died.

Shays rushed to his sister, hugging her tightly to him. "It's all right, Jay," he told her, a frantic tone creeping into his voice. "You're all right. Quiet down. Dammit, quiet down!" He pressed her head to his chest so that his robes muffled her voice. "Stop that shouting!"

"Papa!" Jay finally wailed, the first sensible word amidst her screams. Dilandau rested his cheek against the window's cool glass.

"Can't you shut her up, Strategos?" he muttered. Shays eyed Dilandau, but Folken left Gwinnett and knelt next to Shays and Jay, stroking Jay's tangled curls with his organic hand.

"Calm down, dear child," he told her softly. "Calm."

Jay responded to Folken's touch where Shays could draw no response, and slowly, she quieted, her screams calming to sobs and then to sniffles. "She can't breathe," Folken told Shays. Shays loosened his hold on his sister, looking away, blinking back tears.

"It's the Everlasting Frost," Shays said, staring at the floor. "I knew it. It _is_ coming."

Dilandau glanced out the window into the dark night. He supposed that if this City of Glass had frozen over, and a hailstorm had destroyed the Bell Tower, it wasn't really so far-fetched for an icicle to have speared Gwinnett through. It was a shame, really. He had seemed to be the one with the most sense in this damn place. Maybe that was why he let Shays run the family affairs and spent all his time reading books, or whatever he did all day.

Outside, the wind hissed through the trees. "Another storm coming?" Dilandau wondered aloud. He had enjoyed the last rainstorm. It would be nice to see another before he left for home.

A ghostly pair of eyes appeared floating outside the window, blinking at him from the darkness. Dilandau started, banging his head against the window. _What the hell?_ Now he could see the rest of a thin face, translucent and intangible. The slit-pupiled eyes narrowed, and it hissed through needle-teeth in anger. As Dilandau's jaw dropped, it reached out an armless hand toward him, pressing a clawed fingertip to the windowpane.

Frost began to spread across the glass, whitening it with feathery patterns. Fear filled Dilandau, a cold fear that crept through his body like the ice on the window.

"Get away!" he yelped, reflexively throwing a punch at the—the _thing_ outside. His fist went through the glass with a loud crash. He stared down at his bloodied hand, breathing hard, as Folken looked his way.

"What's wrong, Dilandau?" he asked urgently, standing. Dilandau blinked.

"I—I saw something outside," he stammered. "Something on the wind." But the frost had vanished from what remained of the window. Folken threw it open nonetheless and peered outside, but straightened a moment later, shaking his head.

"There's nothing there."

Dilandau did not respond. Now was not the time to argue. He would bring it up with Folken again later. Folken would believe him when they had more time to speak of it. General Adelphos was the one who saw assassins in his wardrobe every morning, not Dilandau.

More footsteps in the hallway drew his attention. Arias, supported by Calantha with an arm around her shoulders, had finally arrived. Dilandau had figured that he would hear the noise and come running in sooner or later.

Arias's reaction did not disappoint him, either. "Master!" he cried, stumbling forward and falling to his knees before Gwinnett's body. "Master! What happened to Master Gwinnett?" Calantha slid down to the floor in the doorway, her eyes wide. Arias's outburst prompted Jay to begin her wailing anew.

"Master!" Arias cried, his forehead pressed to the floor. He reached out with trembling hands to grasp Gwinnett's feet. "My poor Master—"

"Do not touch him!" Shays growled. Arias did not hear him. "I told you not to touch him!"

Folken raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Shays?"

Shays shoved his sister aside—she hit the floor with a surprised squeak—caught Arias by the back of the collar, and hauled him away from Gwinnett's body. "Get out!" he roared. "I told you not to touch him!"

"Forgive me, Master!" Arias pleaded. "I couldn't hear you!"

"Shays!" Folken reached out for the man, but Dilandau stopped him with a hand on Folken's shoulder.

"Wait, Strategos," he said. "There's something going on here. Something more than just Gwinnett's death. I'm going to find out what it is. Let them go a bit longer." Folken looked worried, his expression clearly conveying that he did not like the idea, but he nodded and held his tongue. Dilandau looked back to Shays, whom, he decided, had finally snapped.

"Out!" Shays hurled Arias into the hallway. The astounded Drifter gasped as he landed on the stone floor, a hand going to his bandaged throat. "Forgive me, Master!" he pleaded, shrinking against the wall. "What have I done?" He hid his face in his hands, as if it could make Shays vanish as well. "What have I done?"

Jay's ear-splitting shrieks increased. Shays growled. "Can't you be quiet and give us a few moments' peace?" he snapped. Jay shook her head, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in them, rocking back and forth. "Shut her up, Folken!"

Folken obeyed by pulling Jay to him, resting her head on his organic shoulder. "Calm, child," he told her softly, stroking her tangled curls once again. "It's all right. I've got you. Don't cry, now. You'll make Shays mad." If not for the gravity of the situation, the whole thing would have been quite humorous. Jay must be smarter than Dilandau gave her credit for, if she liked Folken better than Shays. Her wailing dropped off to childlike, mournful whispering. "There, now. That's a good girl." He smoothed back her hair and unlatched her clenched hands from the fabric of his cloak. "Now, let's sleep. Sleep would be nice now, wouldn't it?" he asked, folding her hands in her lap. Jay nodded.

"Did you make the syringes, Strategos, or did they?" Dilandau asked suddenly, remembering the ways that the family had calmed Jay before. He had not seen the technology around to make such medical equipment, nor did the Artisans strike him as familiar with such things.

"I made them," he admitted, "for times when nothing else would work. But there are other ways to calm her down, other ways to knock her out if need be. They use the syringes more often than they should, I think." Jay's eyes widened, and then she slumped against Folken's chest, unconscious. He withdrew a pin from the back of her neck. "There's other ways, and I prefer them, Dilandau," he finished. "And I wish that I could convince the Sorcerers of the same. We will talk about Jay later."

Dilandau nodded. "Later."

With Jay unconscious, Shays returned his attention to Arias, pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes in that haughty expression that Dilandau had come to know so well.

"What did I do, Master?" Arias pleaded, huddled against the wall, his voice muffled by his hands. "What did I do?"

"You exist," Shays growled. "I told them that we should have gotten rid of you, but they wouldn't listen! And now my father is dead because of you!"

"Because of me?" Arias was plainly confused, and frightened. Dilandau found the whole thing confusing, too. Where did Arias factor into any of it?

Dilandau stepped forward. "What do you mean, because of him? He couldn't have had anything to do with it, and you know it!"

Shays raised a finger, pointing it at Arias, and Dilandau could feel the air thicken as the man drew upon Destiny. "I'll get rid of you now, before my mother wakes to stop me again."

Arias's dark eyes widened. "No, Master! Please, no!"

Dilandau stepped between them and drew his sword all in one smooth motion, laying the edge of the blade against Shays's neck. "If you make one more move, you bastard," he growled, "I'll cut your neck open, and not even Folken will be able to fix it shut again."

"You think to threaten me, Drifter?" Shays spat.

"Just look at what I did to Arias. All I had then was a pair of scissors; imagine what I could do with a sword. I do more than think!" Dilandau shot back, baring his teeth. "You take a man, and you break his legs and beat him down, and then you ask him, 'why can't you stand on your own two feet?' You don't care for anything but your own fucking neck! Not even your own family!"

"That man is not my family," Shays replied in a low voice, and Dilandau knew that he had hit upon something.

"But he is, isn't he?" Dilandau asked, probing upon a whim. "He is, somehow. Not your child or nephew, he's far too old. Your cousin." Shays's gathering self-control told him that his guesses were falling farther and farther from the mark. "Your brother." Shays growled, and Dilandau grinned wickedly. "I've played this game before. 'Guess my heritage.' The only one I've ever been wrong with was Folken. Let's see, now—he does look a lot like Gwinnett, doesn't he? Nothing like your mother—no curls, no weird, purple eyes. He's a bastard, then. A half-brother. I've heard of it before, from the days when my country practiced slavery, too. An owner betrays his wife, falls in love with one of his own slaves—"

"Silence!" Shays thundered, gripping the blade of the sword until the sharp edge bit into his palm and fingers. Dilandau gasped and dropped the sword as the metal of the hilt flared with heat. Shays reached for Dilandau with his cut hand, and Dilandau gripped Shays's wrist in his own bleeding hand, fiery eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You have no more power over me!" Dilandau hissed. Shays's eyes widened in—was it? Yes, that was terror he saw in those violet eyes!

Only then did he realize that the smell of burning flesh had begun to fill the air. Dilandau released Shays, and Shays staggered backward, clutching at his arm, the shape of Dilandau's hand burned into his wrist.

Dilandau did not know how he had done it, or if he could do it again, but he was certainly most eager to try. (And he wasn't about to let Shays know that he didn't know what he was doing, either.)

"Folken said that he told you about me, long ago," he taunted with a sneer. "Didn't he mention how much I love fire?" His smile disappeared. "Touch me again, and I'll burn your pretty face off."

"What are you?" Shays whispered, looking down at his wrist, then back up to Dilandau. "What monster have you brought here, Folken?"

"Monster?" Dilandau said softly. "Monster?"

General Adelphos's voice echoed in his mind. _It's time for me to turn the little monster over to you, Folken. A good Zaibach soldier should obey his superiors, you monster!_

"Don't you call me that!" Dilandau shrieked, catching up his sword and lunging for Shays. "Don't you ever call me that!"

Shays braced himself, preparing to act—and Dilandau's forward momentum ceased with a jerk as Folken caught him around the waist.

"Let it go, Dilandau!" Folken urged. "Let it go!"

"I will not!" Dilandau struggled against Folken's grip, unwilling to harm his friend, yet just as unwilling to let Shays get away. "It's about time that he pays for what he's done to me!"

He felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck, and a familiar burning sensation spreading through his veins.

"How could you, Strategos?" he murmured, the sword falling from his hands. "You know that I hate it." Folken caught him in one arm as he collapsed backwards and lowered him gently to the floor. In the other hand, he held an empty syringe. "How could you?"

"Forgive me," Folken said softly, and Dilandau could see tears coming to his eyes. "Please forgive me."

"I am not in the habit," Dilandau replied bitterly, as his vision darkened, and familiar, unwanted sleep took him.

ooooo

He woke lying comfortably in bed, wearing into soft, white sleeping clothes. His own clothes and armor sat at the foot of the bed, folded neatly. Somebody had bandaged his hand. The window stood half-open, letting a cool, sweet breeze waft in on the sunlight.

_This is too good to be true,_ Dilandau thought. _After the chaos last night, it's like a slap in the face._ He didn't even want to think about last night.

He lifted his bandaged hand, staring at the back of it. How had he burned Shays like that?

"Does your hand hurt?" Folken asked quietly. Dilandau glanced over at the Strategos, sitting in a chair next to his bed.

"No," Dilandau replied, letting his arm drop to his side. "What are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be turning birds into dogs with Shays?"

Folken frowned, then his face resumed its normal placidity. "Arias and Calantha are together. They're fine," he said, looking down at the empty syringe still in his hand. "And Mother—Anna—is watching over Jay. Shays refuses to leave his room. I haven't seen him all day." Dilandau lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Folken to continue. "I didn't want you to wake up alone."

"How kind of you," Dilandau commented dryly, pushing himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the bed's headboard. He reached over and plucked the syringe from Folken's hands, holding it up to the light. "Why did you do that to me, Strategos?" he asked. "You've never used their drugs on me before. You didn't use them on Jay. You said you didn't like it."

"I don't, and I shouldn't have." Folken took the syringe back from Dilandau and set it on the nightstand with a soft clink.

"Then why did you?"

"I had to do something to stop it," Folken told him. "You know how it is—when your family starts fighting. And that was of the worst kind."

"No, I don't know," Dilandau replied coldly. "I have no family."

Folken's face saddened, and he reached out to Dilandau, then seemed to change his mind and dropped his hand. "I had to stop the two of you," he said finally, "and that was the only way I could do it."

"Why not Shays?" Dilandau pointed out, folding his arms. "Why couldn't you knock _him_ out?"

"Because you were out of control. You had him frightened witless, and he left quietly." Folken offered up a small smile. "And I know that you are the one more likely to forgive me."

Dilandau picked up the empty syringe again, turning it over in his hands. He drew back his arm and hurled it against the opposite wall, where it smashed and fell to the floor in pieces. "Apology accepted, Strategos."

"Thank you."

Dilandau grabbed for his clothes at the end of the bed. "I have more questions."

"I may have more answers, then." Folken sounded relieved, his voice less tight than before.

Dilandau tossed his armor jacket over a bedpost with a series of clanks. "Why does Shays hate Arias so much?"

"He is a prejudiced man. He doesn't care for any of the Drifters. Surely you've noticed that already."

Dilandau's head popped through the collar of his lavender tunic. "No. There's more to it than that, isn't there? He didn't throw Calantha into the wall last night. And Arias didn't even do anything."

Folken sighed. "You're too observant."

"It has something to do with Gwinnett, doesn't it?" Dilandau scanned Folken's face, searching for some clue as to the truth or falsity of his words, but the Strategos remained as damnably stoic as ever. "Gwinnett was Arias's father, wasn't he?"

Folken's hands tightened on the arms of his chair. "It is not my secret to reveal," he replied stiffly, looking away from Dilandau. "I can't confirm or deny that." Dilandau huffed.

"So what if he's a bastard? So am I—well, according to Adelphos, anyway. I can never tell which connotation he means when he calls me that. It keeps changing." Folken continued to stare hard at a spot on the wall. "You and your sense of honor. It's not very consistent, is it?"

"It is not my secret to reveal," Folken repeated firmly. "But do not think badly of Gwinnett, Dilandau. I don't think he ever did a dishonorable thing in his entire life. And you are not so good at guessing parentage as you think."

Dilandau stared at him a moment before looking away, too, and reaching for his boots. "Listen to us," he remarked, "gossiping like a bunch of women. Who the hell cares?" Dressed, he stood, snatching his armor jacket from the bedpost and swinging it over one shoulder. "Can we go home now, Folken?" he asked, his eyes going sad in a manner that Folken had never seen before. He almost looked human.

"Yes," Folken replied. "We're going home."

ooooo

They buried Gwinnett alone later that day, just the two of them. Shays refused to show himself, not even for a final farewell to his father. "Good riddance," Dilandau had said, "it's better if he's not there. Gwinnett deserved a better son than that incompetent moron." Folken had advised Arias not to leave his bed, and Calantha not to leave his side. And though Folken had managed to quiet Jay earlier, she had returned to throwing her fits and tantrums, and Anna had her poor hands full just trying to keep the hysterical girl under control. Her shrieks echoed all through the stone hallways, even through the closed door, and more than once Dilandau had seen Jay burst out, only to have her disheveled mother catch her around the wrists ad lead her back into the room.

And so, they buried Gwinnett alone, just Dilandau and Folken. The family graveyard was hidden from the Drifters by Destiny-magic, but Folken knew of its location, and Dilandau was none too surprised to see rows of headstones suddenly appear in the dying grass.

It was an appropriately dreary day, with gray clouds in the sky that threatened rain but had not yet delivered. Still, Dilandau could smell water on the chill air as he crouched near a patch of withering, purple flowers on the edge of the graveyard, his back to Folken and his head in his hands. He had left Folken smoothing the soil over the fresh grave with his organic hand, and if he turned he would no doubt find the Strategos still engaged in the same.

Absently, he plucked two of the flowers from the ground, twisting their stems together. They had eight petals, eight dry, shriveling petals, just short of a perfect, square number. A cold mist had begun to fall from the sky.

"It's not even real rain," Dilandau muttered, plucking another dying flower and braiding its stem in with the first two. The mist wasn't even real rain. These half-dry plants weren't even real flowers, not anymore. "Nothing is real here." He added another flower to the growing chain. "This isn't a real life. They're all fooling themselves. The Drifters all pretend that they enjoy being slaves and the Artisans all pretend that they treat them fairly. Gwinnett was the only one who was honest with himself around here, and they're all pretending that it was just an accident. This whole country is a living, breathing lie." He had never missed Zaibach so badly. Things were straightforward in Zaibach. General Adelphos openly hated him, and Dilandau hated Adelphos right back. Migel played too many jokes, and Chesta still needed some toughening up. There was none of this pretending that black was white because you felt like things were getting a shade too dark.

Dilandau regarded his chain of flowers that spilled from his hands to heap in a pile on the ground at his feet. How the hell did a soldier of Zaibach know how to make a daisy chain? Well, little girls did it all the time, right? Must be one of those things that was so easy that it needed no teaching. He almost laughed. The great Dilandau Albatou, stringing flowers together like a little girl!

He stood, looping the string of shriveled flowers over his arm, and joined Folken back at Gwinnett's grave.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" Folken asked softly. "That his own son wouldn't even come to say farewell?"

"His son is here," Dilandau told him pointedly. "You were a better son to him than Shays ever was. The shame is that these clouds had to come in. It was such nice weather this morning." Unlooping the chain of flowers, he trailed them over the grave in a shape that rather reminded him of the upraised eye on Zaibach's flag.

"He was always looking up," Folken said, nothing the design. "Looking to make things better. Even if nobody cared." Dilandau nodded, watching the misty rain condense into droplets of water on the flowers' petals.

Almost immediately, he frowned as that water hardened into frost. "Do you see that, Strategos?" he asked, leaning down to get a better look.

"I see it," Folken answered, his face just as puzzled. Lids of ice had closed the eye that Dilandau had so carefully arranged.

An icy finger trailed down Dilandau's back, and he jumped in shock, whirling around. "Who's there?" he demanded, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. The only reply he got was a mocking hiss on the wind.

The frost had begun to spread now, creeping along the ground and crawling over the headstones and up the trunks of trees. Dilandau frantically stomped it off as it tried to take hold of his boots. "Folken?" he asked nervously, "what's going on?" Folken did not answer, but instead seized Dilandau's wrist. In a flash they had disappeared, the walls of the library materializing around them. Dilandau ran to the window that Folken had repaired and threw it open, leaning out to watch the ice thicken on the ground. Folken reached around him and slammed the window shut, knocking him in the face.

"Ow!" Dilandau yelped, pressing a hand to his bruised forehead. "Watch it, Strategos!"

"Don't let it in," Folken told him grimly. "Keep the window shut, and it can't get in."

"What is it?" Dilandau asked.

"Frost," Folken answered simply. Dilandau eyed one of the larger books at hand on a shelf, considering taking it up and giving Folken a good wallop in the head. Of course it was frost! But what kind? Normal frost? Magical frost? Everlasting frost? What other kinds of frost were there?

He watched it crawl up the window, leaving feathery patterns along the glass, just like the night before. This time, though, it continued to thicken until a solid sheet of ice covered the window, blocking out what little light the cloudy day had offered.

"I thought as much," Folken mused, examining the window. "Just like the City of Glass. Thank goodness the Drifters are all inside today."

Dilandau regarded the window with curiosity. Without that ghastly face staring at him, it was really quite enchanting. He lifted a hand, pressing his palm flat against the cold glass. Condensation had begun to collect on the inside of the window, trickling down in droplets to pool on the windowsill. The air in the Mystic Valley must be more humid than he realized! The water ran down his arm, dripping off his elbow. The puddle on the windowsill spilled over, soaking into the carpet laid across the stone floor.

Folken took Dilandau's wrist in his organic hand and pulled Dilandau's arm away from the window. "Gwinnett was correct," he said with a soft smile. "You do have the talent."

Dilandau shook water off his hand, spraying Folken in the face with the droplets, and awkwardly dried his arm on the leg of his pants. "Huh?"

Scrubbing a sleeve across his eyes to clear them, Folken gestured to the window with a metal finger. Dilandau peered out the irregularly-shaped hole that had melted in the thick ice on the window, and could see the frost continuing its work outside, slowly glazing over the bright reds and oranges of the trees.

He looked back to Folken. "You sure I don't just have hot hands?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow incredulously. Folken prodded the wet carpet with the toe of his shoe, water oozing up from the fibers with a squish.

"I'll teach you how to keep the water on the outside," Folken promised. Dilandau rubbed his hands together.

"Oh, lovely. Will I be using this to water the window-boxes on the Vione in the wintertime?"

The serious look on Folken's face told him that this was not the time for sarcasm. The smirk on Dilandau's pale lips disappeared.

"What do I need to do?"

"Go down to the Drifters' room," Folken told him. "I've left the doors open. I'll send the house servants down. We have to get everybody out of here."

"What can we do with them?" Dilandau asked. "They won't fit on the Vione."

"We'll take them to Zaibach. We'll make do. We can't simply leave them behind to die."

"Can't we?" Dilandau waved a hand at the window. "If this—this—whatever it is! If it's the end of the world, how can we do anything about it?" A note of despair crept into his voice. "I'm sure as hell not going to give up my life so easily, but what can we do? What can we do against the end of the world?"

Instead of replying, Folken crossed the room and scanned a set of bookshelves. After a moment he selected one, a thin volume that fit in the palm of his hand, bound in worn blue leather and silver script.

"I really have neglected your education, haven't I?" He pressed the small book into Dilandau's hands. "it is true that the end may be coming. But every end leads to a beginning." Dilandau screwed up his face.

"Huh?"

Folken closed his eyes a moment, thinking. "You were born, Dilandau. You were forced to leave your mother's womb, and you had no choice in that end."

Dilandau rolled his eyes. "Clearly."

"There were two possible beginnings after that end. The beginning of your death, and the beginning of your life."

Dilandau frowned. What did biology have to do with anything? He studied the way the light glinted off of Folken's spade-shaped cloak clasp as he tried to think. Folken would never just tell him anything. He would prod Dilandau in the right direction until Dilandau finally figured it out for himself. Probably a good way to teach, but damn frustrating for the student.

Spade shaped button…spades meant death…ends…beginnings…life…death…

"You're saying," Dilandau began slowly, "that I don't need to be afraid. Because maybe the world isn't dying. Maybe it's being born."

"You've got it." Folken nodded. "Keep that in mind, Dilandau. Soon that may be our only hope." He tapped the small book. "And read this. It will help you." He turned for the door.

"Strategos," Dilandau called. Folken stopped.

"Yes?"

"I hear that a lot of mothers die in childbirth."

Folken's shoulders sagged, just slightly, but enough for Dilandau, used to reading the Strategos's body language, to discern.

"That is why it is only a fleeting hope," he replied. "And why we have to find a way to fight back."

"I thought as much." Dilandau tossed the little book on the table with a loud slap. "To the axeman's block with us, then! Off with our heads now! At least it's a quick and easy death!"

There came a long pause, and Folken bowed his head. "Do a favor for me and read the book," he replied. "It's quite easy. It won't take you long." And then the door swung shut behind him.

Dilandau lifted the little book and held it up to the light, finally reading the silver letters pressed into its leather cover.

"Caerdydd's Stones and Other Tales For Children?" He flipped open the cover. Opposite every page of text was an image sketched out in careful lines of ink. "What are you playing at, Strategos? Is this some sort of joke?" He shoved the book into his pocket irritably. If he opted not to throw it at Folken, he could always burn it.

Shoving his arms into his armor jacket's sleeves, he pushed open the library's door. "And what the hell kind of a name is Caerdydd, anyway?" 


	18. Chapter 18: Mutiny

A/N: has taken away my reader responses, and for that I am very angry. I've got a few things to say concerning that before I start the story. For everybody who's been leaving signed reviews, I'm trying to remember to use new response system to reply to you. For everybody who's been leaving unsigned reviews, if you leave an e-mail address, I'll get back to you that way. If not, then thank you for reading, and you can blame that I'm not getting back to you. rules are getting so ridiculous that I'm giving serious consideration to leaving. For the time being, I'll keep updating my stories here, but I'm also in the process of moving everything to my Deviant Art account. If you're a DA user, please check me out, there's a link in my profile.  
I'm done ranting for now. On with the story. Cheers.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 18: Mutiny**

Chesta was the very first to speak, and he stared at his feet for a good, long while before he did it. "Is anybody else worried about getting caught?" he asked softly, twisting his gloved fingers together. Migel rolled his eyes.

"Of course we're worried about being caught!" he hissed. "That's why you're supposed to keep your voice down!"

"Not that," Chesta told him, a hurt look crossing his face. "I mean if Lord Dilandau finds out that we've been in his room when he gets back. He won't like it very much."

"Think about what you're saying," Gatti responded solemnly. "If everything goes right—well, we're not going to see the Vione again, anyway." Guimel nodded his agreement.

"It's sort of hard to think about, you know?" Migel remarked, sliding down against the wall to sit on the floor with the others. "We've been here for so long."

"Our place is where Lord Dilandau is," Guimel reminded him. "If it's not on the Vione, then we just have to leave it. And if it's not in Zaibach—" He fell silent, staring at the same spot on the floor as Chesta.

"It's not about the place," Gatti reminded them. He pulled the simple, black metal chair out from Dilandau's desk to emphasize his point. "The floating fortresses are all the same. There's hundreds of chairs like this one all over Zaibach. But there's only one Lord Dilandau to sit in it. It's the people that matter."

"And it's the people that are sending this place to hell faster than you can say 'white dragon'," Dalet muttered. Gatti shoved the chair back in its place with a metallic scrape.

"Dalet's right," he said, leaning against the top of Dilandau's desk. The cold, metal surface had nothing upon it to distinguish it and make it Dilandau's own. There were no pictures of families, no personal items, no relics of past campaigns—there wasn't even any papers for Zaibach. When the Dragon Slayers gathered in here, the emptiness of it had startled them. They all knew the location of their commander's room, but none of them had ever entered it before. Dilandau's personality, his spirit, had sunk into the very panels of his meeting room, even into the lion statue he had despised. But, this room, which belonged to Dilandau more than any other room in the fortress, had not a scrap of Dilandau in it.

As they had made their way secretly to the room and sneaked in stealthily, they had taken that as an encouraging sign. They had settled in a circle on the floor somewhat reassured.

"Dalet's right," Gatti repeated, his eyes flicking to each of the Dragon Slayers' faces in turn. "This place is going to hell. Ever since Lord Dilandau disappeared, it's been going to hell. And now that Lord Folken is gone and General Adelphos is in charge, I don't see how things can get any better."

"It's mutiny," Guimel murmured. Dalet shot a glare at him.

"Yeah, it's mutiny! What else do you want us to do? How long has Lord Dilandau been gone? How long ago did we finally get all the ice out of the Vione?" He pounded a fist against the floor with a dull thud. "We've been docked here in Palas for three days, unless you haven't noticed! And have we been allowed to keep up the search? No! Have we even been allowed off the damn ship to go for a drink? _No!_"

"Dalet!" Gatti waved him down. "Quiet! You're too loud!"

Dalet folded his arms, glowering. "We don't have room for anybody without a backbone."

"I never said that I didn't want to do it," Guimel retorted with a huff. "I'm just pointing out that it's mutiny, and if we don't make a clean break, we'll end up dead."

The assembled Dragon Slayers looked at each other, a murmur rippling through them.

Chesta piped up next. "You said that you had contacts in Palas, Viole," he interrupted, his voice silencing the others. "Any luck?"

"Oh, yes." Viole pulled out Dilandau's chair, turned it around, and sat down backward in it, leaning against the chair-back and rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Assuming that my contact will keep up her end of the bargain, that is. I have no doubt that she will."

"Her?" Dalet lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know that you knew any women in Asturia."

"Oh, yes." Viole nodded. "You forget that my father owns a fair amount of land in Asturia. He's always at the palace for one session or another."

"It's easy to forget. _You_ don't own a damn thing," Dalet snickered, tossing his head good-naturedly. Viole shrugged.

"Tends to come with being disinherited." He turned the chair around and sat in it properly. "The long and short of it is that Princess Millerna still remembers me from back when my father used to take me with him. I managed to get a letter to her. Once we decide our date, I send her another note, and we've got our problem taken to the king."

Jaws dropped across the room. "Viole?" Gatti asked skeptically, "you want Princess Millerna to speak to King Aston on our behalf?"

Viole frowned; then smiled as understanding dawned, and he tipped the chair back on two legs. "No, no! The princess is a lovely person, but she hasn't got the head for this sort of thing." Voices sighed in relief across the room. "Princess Eries will speak to the King. But I don't know her well, so I had to go through Princess Millerna. She knows how to use her position to get what she wants. Best case, she can convince the King to lend us some help to keep searching for Lord Dilandau. Worst case, all we get is a pardon for breaking off from the Empire and safe passage in Asturia." He shrugged. "So, all is looking good there."

Gatti nodded. "Chesta?"

"Everything looks good here, too." Chesta reached into his pocket and held up a phial of a clear, syrupy liquid that gave off the impression of a sickeningly sweet flavor. "I kept General Adelphos's soldiers distracted, and Migel went up to Lord Folken's laboratory."

Guimel leaned forward, interested. "How'd you do that?" Chesta grimaced.

"I got them talking about how wonderful it is to serve on his fortress. It wasn't fun."

"But it got me into Lord Folken's quarters." Migel nodded to the phial that Chesta held. "He had a bunch of bottles of that, so I doubt anyone will miss what I took."

"What is it?" Dalet asked him skeptically. Migel rolled his eyes.

"I know better to just take random chemicals from—"

"It's a sleeping drug," Chesta interrupted. "According to the papers he had with it. It's a really strong sleeping drug."

"It's supposed to be injected," Migel added, "but it'll still work if it's consumed. Just not as fast."

"The maids have agreed to put it in General Adelphos's wine at dinner," Chesta finished. "Something sweet so he won't notice the flavor. He should be out for a good six hours or so. We'll have plenty of time to get out before he can try to organize his soldiers after us."

"And if one of the commanders decides to do it?" Dalet asked.

"I've had the maids spying for us," Chesta answered. "We think we've figured out who's loyal to Adelphos and who isn't. They'll break the locks on the doors of anyone who is and trap them in."

"Chess has got himself a full internal spy network going." Migel ruffled Chesta's hair. "They think he's cute. They can't resist him." Chesta blushed and flattened out his mussed hair.

"It just pays to be nice to people, that's all."

"It sounds like we're set, then." Gatti rubbed his hands together. "Three night from now. Will that be enough time for everybody to get word to your contacts?" The Dragon Slayers looked at each other, then back to Gatti, nodding. "Good. In three days."

"I'd like to add one more thing," Viole piped up. Gatti stepped aside to allow Viole his place in front of Dilandau's desk. He bowed his head, gathering his words before he spoke them.

"The way I see it, we're not deserting," he began. "We pledged our loyalty to Zaibach and to Lord Dilandau. What we're doing is for Lord Dilandau, and through him, for Zaibach. If we have to defy Adelphos to do it, I don't care. If we have to kill Adelphos to do it, I don't care, because he's not a loyal son of Zaibach. He's only loyal to himself." Viole paused, slipping a finger through the ring on the pommel of his sword. "What I'm trying to say is…General Adelphos has a way of influencing people…and on top of that, we don't know who's involved in taking Lord Dilandau away. Even if we're successful, we may never see Zaibach again. Or they might take Lord Dilandau away from us. So…just keep that in mind." Nodding, he picked his way to the door, and had gone before anyone could speak.

Gatti blinked. "Well…I guess we're done here. You can go—"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Dalet had jumped to his feet and strode quickly down the hall after Viole.

"Viole!" he called. When Viole did not break stride, Dalet caught the other Dragon Slayer by his long ponytail. "Vi-o-le!"

"What?" Viole spun around angrily. "What'd you do that for? You could've said my name!"

"I _did_," Dalet told him, planting his hands on his hips. Viole's frown disappeared.

"I'm sorry, Dalet, I must not have heard you. I'm just—well, you know, we've all been pretty preoccupied lately."

"Yeah, I know." Dalet wrinkled his nose. All the hallways of the Vione had begun to take on the smell of mold and mildew lately. They must not have gotten all the water out. "What was with that little speech you gave everybody?" he asked, toeing a patch of slimy green that had formed in the crease between wall and floor. "Do you know something you're not sharing?"

"No, it's not that." Viole folded his arms, looking away. "I just have a bad feeling about all this."

"If you're getting cold feet, you can just stay behind!"

"I don't have cold feet!" Viole retorted. "Look, something's behind Lord Dilandau's disappearance and a lot of really weird things have been happening since he left. I just have a feeling that they're not over yet."

Dalet sighed. "You're probably right there. Since when does an entire fortress freeze over in the summertime?"

"Exactly."

Behind him, Dalet could hear footsteps and softly murmuring voices as the other Dragon Slayers left—and before him, he could see a sparkle of light on the floor. Not such an odd thing, considering that the Vione had floors made of metal, but it shone unusually bright and pure for oft-trod-upon steel. Especially oft-trod-upon steel that grew more and more mildew every day. "What's that?" Dalet asked, pointing. Viole turned.

"I don't know."

Dalet took a few cautious steps up the hallway. He stopped with a sigh of relief, laughing at his paranoia. It was nothing more than a woman's comb lying upon the floor. A beautifully wrought thing of silver, decorated with a wolf's head and two sparkling amethysts for eyes, but nothing more.

"It's just some trinket," he told Viole, crossing the hallway to the comb. Viole frowned.

"What's it doing here?"

"I'll bet that Chesta has a sweetheart in the maid service," Dalet offered mischievously. "I'll bet he got it for her and dropped it. And if he didn't, he should have." He stooped and pocketed the comb before Viole could speak. "I'll give it back to him—or to him, whichever the case may be."

But Viole still looked worried. "What if it isn't Chesta's?" he asked.

"Then it's tough luck for whoever was stupid enough to drop it." Dalet winked at him. "Come on, why are you making such a big deal about a little comb?"

Viole sighed, putting his hands back on his hips and looking down at the floor. "I don't know. I guess I'm just worried. You know, about the mission."

"Then figure out what's wrong with our plans and fix it before we leave, instead of worrying about the things I've found on the floor!" Dalet spun on his heel and walked away, not wishing to continue the conversation. He wasn't up for starting an all-out argument.

Dalet shivered as Viole's footsteps faded away, rubbing his arms. They must not have fixed the temperature regulation systems in this part of the Vione yet. The ice had damaged some of the floating fortress's newer technology and sent them haywire, making parts of the ship freezing cold, and others boiling hot. He would have sworn that the temperature was normal when he had passed by before, though.

And then he realized that another pair of footsteps had joined his. He stopped and whirled around, expecting to see Migel sneaking up behind him, making some frightful face. He found something much more pleasant.

A young woman dressed all in white stood with her back to him, combing out the long, black ringlets that fell down her back. Even from behind, he could see that she was beautiful. That thought struck him immediately. Well, he did have a good eye for appearances.

So unfortunate. Women didn't accidentally wander onto floating fortresses. She was either a guest or a spy. Dalet guessed spy. Perhaps he could capture her without alarming her, and get her into one of the dungeon cells before she had realized what had happened.

Maybe she knew what had happened to Lord Dilandau.

Dalet caught a glitter of amethyst, and decided that he could probably assume that the comb she held was twin to the one he had found. Likely she had dropped it on purpose. Whatever. He would play along for the moment.

"Excuse me, miss, but I believe you've dropped this;" he told her, extending the comb with a flourish. The twin comb stopped; the white hand lowered it to her side. She turned slowly, giving Dalet a view of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Are you a guest? You shouldn't be wandering around unescorted," he told her. She lifted a pale, delicate arm and closed Dalet's hand around the comb that he still held out to her. He suppressed a snicker. What an inexperienced spy! Could she possibly be any more obvious? This was ridiculous! "Tell me, who are you visiting, my lady?" he asked.

She opened her mouth with a shy smile to reply, and Dalet realized that, for some reason, her lips were not quite as full as when she had first turned around. In fact, they had begun to trickle down one corner of her mouth. Her perfect fingers turned icy-cold against his hand, fusing together in some places, stretching out in others. The curls oozed out of her hair as it melded with her dress and neck—suddenly she looked as though someone had taken a perfect wax doll and melted it. And before Dalet could react to this strange turn of events, the ruined hand tightened around his wrist, holding him in place with inhuman strength. Its eyes flared, the lids disappearing altogether, and it bared needle-like teeth at him and hissed.

Dalet panicked, prying frantically at the hand that held him fast, but he could not free it, just as he could not tear his eyes from the hideously melted face.

The needle-teeth parted, and the thing let loose a piercing shriek that rebounded off the walls and echoed in his ears without diminishing.

Frantic, Dalet strained until he thought he would pull his hand off in his efforts to free himself. With a casual pop, the thing—for he couldn't really think of it as a woman anymore—melted altogether into a mass of cold water that splashed across the floor.

Dalet tore down the hallway, trying to put as much distance between himself and that puddle of water as he could. He had to get away…had to get away…

Another hand seized his wrist and stopped his wild flight. _It's got me again!_

Then he heard the familiar voice shouting, "Dalet! Dalet!" He looked down at the hand that gripped him, and saw that it was real flesh and bone, warm, covered in black leather like his. He looked up into Viole's worried face, and realized that his throat hurt—because he was screaming at the top of his lungs. He forced his body to cease its struggle, forced his voice to cease its shouting, but the fear, the fear wouldn't leave him.

"What's wrong, Dalet?" Viole repeated firmly.

Dalet looked down and grimaced. Slowly, he pulled the silver comb out of the holes the teeth had punched in his glove, pulled it out of the holes the teeth had punctured in the heel of his hand. The crimson shone just as bright and wet as the silver.

"Dalet?" Viole took Dalet's face between his hands, forcing the amethyst gaze up to meet his. "You're really pale. What's going on? What was all that screaming? It sounded—" Viole shuddered "—it felt like someone was dragging files down my spine. Was that you?"

"You heard it too? I don't know!" Dalet told him. "I don't know, there was this woman, and all of a sudden…she melted." Dalet shivered. "And then she screamed at me."

"A woman? On the Vione? I think you'd better get some rest," Viole suggested. "You can't be seeing things like this for…our next mission."

"I know what I saw!" Dalet tore himself away. "You heard her too! I'm not making up stories!"

"Well, that's certainly reassuring," a familiar and unwelcome voice huffed. "It wouldn't do to have one of our prized Dragon Slayers _making things up_, now, would it?"

Viole's fist snapped to his heart in a salute; Dalet's shaking hand following more slowly. "General Adelphos!" they chorused.

"You look terrible," Adelphos commented, taking in Dalet's pale face and wide eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

"Sir!" Dalet straightened, trying to stay his trembling hands—trying to kill his fight-or-flight instincts. He still wanted to run, run far away from that innocent-looking puddle of water on the floor. "There's an intruder somewhere on the Vione."

"An intruder?" That got Adelphos's attention. "Of what sort?"

"A woman, sir. A woman dressed all in white. I confronted her around the corner, but…" Dalet trailed off. Adelphos _hmphed_ expectantly.

"But what?"

"But she…melted."

Viole winced. Judging from the shade of red creeping up from his collar, Adelphos found Dalet's story even less believable than Viole had. And Adelphos's wrath was far more deadly to arouse.

Viole peered up the hallway, but could find no sign of Dalet's puddle of water. However, Viole couldn't deny the wet handprint around Dalet's wrist.

Apparently, though, Adelphos could.

ooooo

Hitomi watched the changing shadows as they crossed over her trainers when she idly tapped her toes together. So many things had happened; it was easiest to take these moments to sort them out. To focus on something as simple as tapping her toes, and then to go from there.

They had rescued Van from the Vione with ease, since the whole thing had been covered in ice. Zaibach would have to thaw it and clean up the mess that followed before it could operate again. There was no way it could send anything after them, and they should have been free to breeze into Palas and present Fanelia's problems before King Aston.

Somewhere along the way, that hopeful perspective had slowly crumbled, along with their situation. Somebody had managed to send a message from the Vione to King Aston, a message warning him that the Crusade had attacked the Vione with all its force, a message warning him that Allen Schezar and his crew could not be trusted.

The palace guards had met the ship when it landed and taken the crew until more information could be brought to light. While Van and Allen weren't harmed, they certainly didn't deserve the reception they had gotten—locked up for the time being, with only the shouts from the other cells as company. Hitomi had been permitted to visit them, and they both seemed hopeful about their upcoming trial before the king. Zaibach had attacked first, so once King Aston had heard their entire tale, he would certainly set them free.

Hitomi almost wished that she had found the same fate as them. When she had come off the Crusade, sick and scared and utterly confused, the palace guards immediately took her for an innocent, if strangely dressed, passenger aboard the ship. Deprived of the care of her companions, she instead became a guest at the palace. A kind old woman discovered a plant poison in a wound on her leg, and tended to it cheerfully; she felt better almost immediately. After that, they had left her to her own devices. A guest, but under a sort of loose house arrest—she was not to leave the palace grounds until the king had decided what to do with Van and Allen. Not that she even had any intentions to go wandering around a strange city alone.

In all, it was a pretty nice situation for her, especially considering that Princess Millerna had taken a particular interest in her. She didn't need her tarot cards to see that the princess was in love with Allen. She wished her tarot cards could tell her why that bothered her.

"I mean, it's not like I've even known him for all that long," she said to herself, leaning against the windowsill. "And then before that there was Amano." She rapped her knuckles against her forehead. "Why am I so fickle? Fickle! I have more important things to be thinking about!"

Up the hallway, she could hear a pair of light footsteps that, presumably, belonged to Princess Millerna, and she couldn't help but cringe a bit. After getting her into a pink and white dress, Millerna had been after Hitomi to wear a wig until her hair could grow long. "It's just not proper for a companion of Allen's to be going around with short hair like a man!" Of course, after Hitomi reminded her that _she_S went around in trousers like a man, Millerna had dropped the subject. Still, she would not let up pestering Hitomi for stories of her "mysterious homeland." Hitomi wasn't certain how many more cautious tales of Kamakura she could tell Millerna without revealing that she was from the Mystic Moon. Millerna kept rattling off lists of countries that Hitomi had never heard of, trying to guess which one she was from. Hitomi couldn't agree to any of them, or she'd have to keep up the act, and she had a feeling that Millerna was running out of countries. Oh, it was frustrating!

The footsteps came closer, bringing with them Millerna's now-familiar face, framed by blonde waves. But she was running, and even considering her tomboy tendencies, she didn't usually run around the palace.

"Millerna?" Hitomi asked, looking up, "what's wrong?" The princess's pale face was flustered, and she had a crumpled piece of paper clutched in her hand.

"Oh, I don't know whether to be excited or incredibly worried!" Millerna glanced up and down the hallway, then seized Hitomi's wrist and pulled her through a door.

"Millerna!" Hitomi flailed her free arm as she tripped over the hem of her gown. Millerna released her, and she straightened her cumbersome skirt. "What's wrong?" Hitomi repeated. Millerna paced the length of the little sitting-room several times before seating herself primly on a cushioned window-seat and smoothing the letter out in her lap.

"Well, I'm not quite sure if it's something wrong, or something very right!" Millerna exclaimed. Hitomi waited for the princess to continue, and after a moment she did, spilling out a long jumble about the Zaibach Empire, Asturia, the Dragon Slayers, a man named Adelphos, and her own sister Eries. "Oh, I know you didn't understand any of that, Hitomi," she finished, "but this is finally my chance to prove that I can do something for my country after all! They'll be coming in just three days—and these men were on the Zaibach fortress that Allen is said to have attacked, they may be able to help us get him and the Fanelian king free!"

Hitomi understood more of it than she could let Millerna know. Allen had told her all about Zaibach's Dragon Slayers, and in light of recent events, she didn't think that they seemed like a very appealing bunch at all. But then, if they were planning to abandon the very organization that had created them, perhaps she did not yet know enough to pass a fair judgment.

Millerna searched Hitomi's face nervously. "Oh, say something! Back me up! I'm so nervous! But there's no stopping it now!"

"I have a bad feeling about this," Hitomi said slowly. Millerna moaned and resumed her pacing.

"I talked it over with Eries," she told Hitomi, trying to reassure herself. "Eries agreed with me, and she's the one who's going to talk to Father when they get here. She's so much more articulate than me. Viole wouldn't lie, he's so very honest. I just wish—" she paused, wringing the paper again. "—I wish I knew how it was all going to turn out!"

Hitomi remained silent, her hand going to the tarot cards in her pocket. Could she do it? Would it be revealing too much about herself? But this was an important matter. If the Dragon Slayers tricked them, if something had gone wrong, it would be good to know.

"Princess Millerna," Hitomi said softly. "I have a confession. You don't know much about me, and I've been trying to keep it that way. But, I think I can trust you with a secret—I'm a fortuneteller."

"A fortuneteller?" Millerna brightened. "You can tell me what's going to happen, Hitomi?"

"I can't always see everything, but…yes, I can." Well, she seemed interested and impressed, not angry. That was a good sign.

"You're a seer?" Millerna repeated, leaning forward. Seer, fortuneteller, whatever. Hitomi nodded.

"I guess you could say that."

"Oh, tell my fortune, Hitomi!" Millerna cried. "Tell me what's going to happen!"

Hitomi paused. Well, by revealing her skills to Millerna, she'd been tempting the princess to ask her for a fortune-telling, hadn't she? "No problem. If you could just bring that little table over here—" Millerna immediately obliged, pulling a small, round table over to the window seat. Millerna watched with interest as Hitomi shuffled and laid out the tarot cards.

"You can see the future in those cards?"

"And the past," Hitomi told her. "And sometimes the present. See—" she pointed to a card "—this one just means that everybody is nervous about what's going to happen." Millerna nodded.

_That bad feeling still hasn't gone away._ Hitomi turned over the next card. "But everybody's intentions are true. The Dragon Slayers aren't going to try to trick us."

Millerna sighed. "What a relief!"

Hitomi turned over the next card. "But, it's not going to work."

Millerna frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure." Hitomi glanced over the cards she had overturned so far. "I can't tell whose plans it's referring to. But I'm not done yet," she added quickly, "it'll probably get clearer." She reached for the next card—

—and swirls of color filled her vision, convalescing into the figure of a man whose face she couldn't see. Hunched over with his back to her, Hitomi watched as his skin _hardened_, taking on a faceted, crystalline texture, and then, with a bolt of lightning shooting down from the sky, he shattered like glass.

Her stomach growing cold, Hitomi turned over the next card, already knowing what she would see—that ill-omened reaper, glaring mockingly at her.

"Somebody is going to die!" Hitomi blurted out.

"Die?" Millerna cried. "What do you mean?"

But Hitomi couldn't answer her. Everything was going foggy. She toppled over from the window seat to the floor, and she saw nothing more except black.

ooooo

Dilandau burst through the door to Arias's room, and both the Drifters who occupied it jumped with startled squeaks. Dilandau ignored them for the moment and strode to the window, throwing it open and leaning out. He could see the Drifters filing outside and milling about the courtyard inside the snowflake-wrought gate, as he had instructed. Ice caked the ground, the fence, the walls, giving everything a white sheen. At least it was not particularly thick, spread out as it was, and, more importantly, did not seem to be increasing. He could not see the sky for the thick layer of slate-gray clouds that coated the world like snow on glass. Snow on glass—it would snow soon, likely, or at least rain; he didn't want to see the result of _that_. Clutching Jay's hand in hers, Anna stood off to one side. Well, if anything happened before Folken could pry Shays outside, she could take care of it.

Satisfied, Dilandau shut the window and turned to Arias and Calantha. "We're leaving. Come on."

"Leaving?" The two followed him out the door without hesitation, but he could hear the confusion in their voices. "Where are we going?" Arias asked.

"Zaibach," Dilandau answered.

"Zaibach!" Arias exclaimed. "But, Master Dilandau, isn't that—"

"—my country," Dilandau finished. "We're leaving the Mystic Valley."

Dilandau stopped. He had to stop, because both his charges had stopped dead in their tracks.

"Leave New Atlantis?" Calantha protested weakly. "We—I—can't."

"I don't care whether you can or can't," Dilandau retorted, "you're damn well going to do it!"

"We can't," Arias argued. "We can't abandon the masters. I know that you don't like it here, but this is still our home—"

"You're not going to have your home for much longer!" Dilandau exploded. "I don't know what's going on, and I'm not going to pretend that I do. All I know is that it's just not right for frost to suddenly sprout on the ground. Folken thinks that something's going to happen, and he's getting all of us out of here before we're frozen alive. That includes your precious Shays and Jay that you love so much."

He spun on his heel and stormed away, hoping that he would hear two pairs of footsteps following him. He did.

_I don't know why we don't just leave them behind, if they're so attached to this place._ He was glad that he wouldn't be the one having to figure out what to do with all these people once they finally got them home.

_Home. I'm finally going home. I'm going to see the Vione and my Dragon Slayers again._

His steps lighter, Dilandau pushed open the last of the heavy doors and turned his head aside as a blast of cold air hit him in the face. Arias and Calantha hung back in the doorway.

Dilandau gritted his teeth, leaning against the door to keep it open. "What's wrong with you two now?"

Calantha clung to Arias, her eyes wide and nervous. "Master Dilandau? It's—snowing—and—"

Dilandau glanced down at the white flakes that dusted the black of his uniform, then up to the sky as the heavens tore open.


	19. Chapter 19: Fate Defy Reason

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 19 – Fate Defy Reason**

Folken paused outside the door to Shays's room. He'd had an easy enough time getting Anna and Jay outside with the Drifters, but Shays? Leave the Mystic Valley? He would sooner convince Dilandau to take up humanitarian aid, or—or to become a monk in Freid!

Now that he thought about it, Dilandau was equally stubborn and unmanageable as Shays, probably more. Moreover, Shays was entirely predictable, whereas Dilandau was always producing new reactions to the buttons Folken tried to push. Reassured, he pushed open the door to Shays's room without knocking. "Get up," he said briskly. "We're leaving."

Shays lifted his head wearily. From the looks of it, he had been sitting with his head pillowed against his arm on the desk, poking through the pieces of what bore a suspicious resemblance to pieces of Dilandau's diadem. Judging by the pink mark on his cheek, he had been wasting his time in such a manner for a good half hour or so.

"Go to hell," Shays snapped, and the door slammed shut in Folken's face.

Folken concentrated on the door, and a moment later, it vanished. "We're leaving," he repeated, striding inside.

"No, we're not." Shays poked idly at the purple gem on his desk. "Well, you can go if you want, but I'm staying here. Nice knowing you. Have fun with your little machines."

Folken scooped up the pieces of Dilandau's diadem and pocketed them. It had taken him a long time to make, and he wasn't about to leave it to Shays's amusement. "We have to evacuate," he argued. "Your father is dead. The Everlasting Frost is coming. If we stay here, we're going to die."

"So what? We're all going to die anyway, aren't we? You can't stop the Everlasting Frost. How long until Gaia is covered in ice? A week? A month? A year? You can run, but I'm going to save myself the torment of trying to hide to gain myself a few more meager minutes."

"I'm getting sick of your self-pity," Folken commented coldly.

Shays slapped a hand down on his desk, standing. "I think I have a right to a little self-pity!" he shot back, his eyes flashing. "My father is dead. My Drifters are useless. My sister is a stunted freak who can't even figure out how to walk in a straight line, and my mother lets our skeletons run free instead of putting them in the closet where they belong. I thought I could at least depend on you to be sane, Folken, but it looks like you're running back to your little playground too. Give me one good reason that I shouldn't just stay at my home and die properly!"

"I'll give you five," Folken told him evenly. Shays's look dared him to go on. "One. We do not know that the Everlasting Frost is inevitable. If there's a possibility that we can combat it, we certainly must try."

"Try yourself," Shays interjected irritably. "I'm sick of working at these doomed projects."

"Two," Folken continued, "the people around you cannot help the faults that you hold against them. We are what we are."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you'd actually stuck around the Mystic Valley for awhile after getting your cloak. I expected better arguments out of you."

"Three. You have a number of personality flaws yourself that you seem to have failed to notice. If you die now without attempt to correct them, they will likely be enough to send you straight to hell."

Shays frowned. "Hey—"

"Four. Your mother loves you. Your Drifters love you. I won't have them saddened by something so selfish."

"—wait a—"

"And five." Folken's eyes hardened in warning. "You have skill. You have talent. I'm going to need you if I'm going to try to prevent the Everlasting Frost. I also happen to know every little secret that you've been trying to stamp on for so many years, and I will blackmail you into coming."

Shays laughed. "You wouldn't stoop so low!" he sneered.

"Oh, yes. I assure you that I will make certain that Gaia remembers you for every little thing you've done wrong and for every little prejudice you've held. I'll make sure that everything you did well is thrown to the wind."

The mirth drained from Shays's face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Folken shrugged casually. He knew he could count on Shays's vanity. "At the very least, I think that Arias deserves to know that the man who treated him like a dog—"

"Stop it, Folken."

"—and ground him into the dirt was none other—"

"Stop it!"

"—than his very own—"

"Don't say it!" Shays turned away, covering his ears with his hands. "Just—don't say it out loud!"

Folken smiled, ever so slightly. "—triplet."

Shays moaned in frustration. "He's no brother of mine!" he growled.

"On the contrary, I've been giving this some thought while I've been gone to my little playground. Multiple births are extremely rare among us Draconians. Have you ever thought about why? All of the Fate abilities that Arias should have had, all of Jay's mind—_you_ have them."

Shays's face went white as snow as he turned back around. "I _what?_"

Folken nodded. "It's a well-known fact, though your selective attention has likely weeded it out. She didn't want you to feel guilty for it, she once told me."

"Guilty for _what?_"

"Think of something, Shays. We never knew any twins during our schooling, let alone triplets. Usually one child will be born a Drifter, and the other a High Artisan. Usually, multiple births don't even survive. All of the things that you hold against Jay and Arias are, though accidentally, your fault. I think you've been very ungrateful for the talent you've received from them."

Shays glared daggers at Folken. "You've turned into one of the biggest bastards I've ever known while you've been gone."

"If I don't see your feet walking toward the door, you're going to get my fist in your face. Then I'll drag you out by your prized cloak. Wouldn't that be a pretty sight for the Drifters?"

"Oh-ho! Blackmail _and_ threats now, is it?" With a wounded look, Shays shoved his chair in and moved toward the door.

"Wait." Folken held up a hand. "What's that sound?"

Shays paused. "I don't hear…wait…it sounds like…"

Folken threw open the frosted-over window. Outside, the clouds looked as though something had literally clawed them apart. Hail poured from the sky in pea-sized lumps, growing ever larger; as they watched a tattered shred of cloud tore free, dissipating into a flurry of snow that scattered among the ice.

The sky was falling.

Folken seized Shays by the wrist and they vanished, reappearing in a lower hallway. Arias and Calantha stood inside the open doors, their eyes wide, Calantha rocking back and forth on her feet as though she might faint any minute. Anna, her eyes lidded, was clearly trying to gather together some sort of a Destiny manipulation. Jay, who just as clearly had no idea of the danger, kept breaking her concentration. Dancing lightly from one foot to the other, Jay had her hands stretched up to the sky, gleefully singing to herself as she always did—

"La, ra, la, ra, la, ra…"

"Where's Dilandau?" Folken shouted over the roaring wind as a fist-sized chunk of ice smashed on the stones at his feet. Anna seized Jay's shoulder, pulled her back into the shelter of the hallway, and squeezed her eyes shut as her lips moved in unheard words. Folken saw the beginning of a shield spark across the doorway, then disappear with a pop as Jay accidentally flung a hand into her mother's face.

Arias lifted a trembling finger and pointed outside, at the air that had turned to shifting shades of white. "He's out there, Master," Arias answered, barely audible. "He wanted to see if there was anybody left, to bring them back. The sky just—_opened_ . Nobody else was close enough to get to the doorway, and the ice crushed them all—" his voice broke, and he bowed his head. The tears that fell from his cheeks froze in the air and shattered on the floor.

"I'm going after him. Wait here," Folken ordered. Shays nodded and waved a hand at the doorway; the shield that his mother had been struggling to create sprang to life, a pale green sheet of light. Anna sighed and gripped Jay by both shoulders; Jay squirmed in protest.

Folken seized the red ornament that dangled from the left corner of his cloak and tore it free. Holding it tight in his organic hand, he thrust it over his head as he stepped out into the hail. Red light flared between his fingers as he set the destiny particles inside the red glass resonating in a tune that would deflect the ice away. He released his concentration, hoping that his thoughts would hold inside the ornament; they did, he could see jagged chunks of ice bouncing away inches from his face. They made it hard to keep his footing as he trudged out, scanning the flying white for any trace of red or black. Logic defied the idea that the hail had not pummeled Dilandau with the others, but he had to hope—there was always hope—

"Dilandau!" he called, but the wind caught his words and threw them back into his face. "Dilandau! Can you hear me?"

An answer came in the form of a hiss on the wind. Folken whirled around, jerking his sword out of its sheath and impaling a ghostly face neatly between its slit-pupiled eyes. The wraith dissolved into snow, scattering away on the wind, but just as he had dispatched one, an icy hand clawed at his shoulder, and a layer of frost from the first had blunted his sword. He spun again, bringing the blade around one-handed in a head-severing blow—and it passed cleanly beneath the head behind him. "At least they don't have bodies yet," he muttered to himself, changing directions and sweeping his sword through the middle of the face. It shattered, taking the hand on his shoulder with it.

Now the whirling hail sparked off of the shield he had created with bursts of red light. He had to hurry, the protection wouldn't last forever—and now there were sharp icicles the length of his arm hurtling down with the snow and hail. More of the wraiths' ghastly faces and disembodied hands appeared around him, circling and waiting for their moment to strike.

"Dilandau!" Folken called, frantically holding the red ornament aloft and trying to shake the ice off his blade. "_Dilandau!_"

A great roar split the air that sent the wraiths scattering. Folken frowned. That had sounded like an animal, like the roar of a dragon, or—

Something tugged at his cloak from behind. Folken turned and found Dilandau huddled on the ground, bruises from the pounding hail already showing on his pale skin. He seemed unconscious, but he also seemed mostly unharmed, the last due in no small part to the pure white lioness that stood over him. She stared at Folken with bright blue eyes, shielding Dilandau from the sky. Inviting Folken to come closer.

When he moved toward Dilandau, the lioness leapt aside, and when Folken draped a side of his cloak around Dilandau, drawing him into the shield's protection, she loped away into the snow, leaving not so much as a paw print to show him that he had not imagined the bizarre event.

Now, how could he manage to carry Dilandau back to the others and still maintain his shield?

Shays saved him the trouble by coming out with his own shield of red light, Arias and Jay limping and trudging with him. Anna followed behind with a green light of her own over her head, Calantha close by her side. "The building's falling down!" he shouted, as Folken felt the red glass crack in his hand. "We have to leave now! Get the Drifters in the center!"

Arias and Calantha knelt down with the unconscious Dilandau as the ornament in Folken's hand shattered, the red light fading immediately. He threw his cloak out over Dilandau protectively, clutching the albino to his chest. Jay clung to her mother, wailing.

"Follow me," Folken told Shays and Anna. "Just follow me, and we'll be fine. Ready?"

Shays released his shielding ornament and threw the corners of his cloak over Arias and Calantha. The wind whipped their hair around in all directions and hail stung their faces. "Ready!"

"Now!" Folken called.

Three wills focused on the heavens, and the heavens responded, opening to accept the pillar of light that had sprung up from the ground. They floated up into warmth, up into calm—

—and landed softly down on the floor in the center of Dilandau's meeting room.

Arias spoke first, breaking the calm in the still air. "No!" he cried, clutching Calantha's hands in his. She lay awkwardly on the floor, staring at the ceiling, an icicle thrust through her stomach. "No!"

A disgusted look on his face, Shays pulled his cloak free and eyed the hole that the long icicle had punched through the material when it impaled Calantha. Anna set about, with quiet determination, trying to calm Jay, who had continued to wail with her fright and now beat her fists against the floor.

Folken shook Dilandau's shoulder, and the albino opened his eyes slowly. "Are you all right?"

He blinked, looking around in confusion. "Where are we?"

"Aboard the Vione. We're home."

"On the Vione?" Dilandau reached around until he found Folken's hand, and he gripped it tightly. "Strategos!" he cried, "Strategos, I—I can't see!"

"What?" He couldn't see? Folken leaned over and peered into Dilandau's wide eyes, but he could see nothing wrong with them, no damage from the wild hailstorm.

"It's just like that time in the forest!" Dilandau told him, shivering, rubbing at his ice-caked arms. "The white light won't go away! I can't see, Strategos! I can't see!"

ooooo

Dalet shrank into the corner of the bedroom, eyeing the clock on the wall as the seconds ticked by. Nine hours. Two days since they had finalized their plans, and nine hours left to wait.

The Vione had grown progressively colder over the past sixty-three hours. Nobody else seemed to notice it. Well, Viole said that he felt a bit chilly too, but not enough that it really bothered him unless he was thinking about it. Dalet had informed the ship's technicians, and they replied that they had gotten all of the Vione's temperature regulation systems up and running two days ago. Two days.

Six hours, and he kicked the pillow off his bed so that he could huddle farther in the corner. He didn't look very good, Gatti had said. He looked sick. His eyes were pink and tired. But he didn't have a fever; on the contrary, his skin was rather cold. Maybe he had hypothermia from the day the Vione froze over. He'd better get himself checked out, Gatti said, so that he would be well for their next "mission". But he'd gone, and the Vione's doctors couldn't find a thing wrong with him. Maybe he just needed to get some sleep.

But it was awfully hard to sleep with that little imp sitting on his chest, slit-pupiled eyes staring into his, its needle-toothed mouth open in a grin. He knew he had to be imagining it, because whenever he tried to swat it, it would vanish, and he would awaken in a cold sweat.

Three hours. The first night, the imp had come and sat on his chest. The second night it had paced back and forth before finally leaving him, and he woke up covered in cold, frost-rimmed handprints. Last night had been the worst, though. When he went to sleep, he dreamt of the imp again, and this time it only watched him for a moment before sinking its claws into his chest. What strange dreams he had been having! Luckily, he had not woken anyone up when he came to in the hallway, coughing up mouthfuls of half-melted snow-slush.

Half an hour. He was certain that whatever had caused the Vione to freeze had not left yet. It was still here, and his dreams had something to do with it. Another reason he would be glad to put the Vione behind him and continue the search for Dilandau.

Three minutes. The temperature in the room dropped, and the face of the clock frosted over, its hands freezing. There was the imp from his dreams, sitting on his desk, hissing at him through its bared teeth. But he wasn't dreaming now, was he?

Eyeing the imp, Dalet stood slowly, his back pressed to the wall. If he could catch the creature—and kill it—maybe things would go back to normal on the Vione. He jumped off his bed and lunged at the little thing, and it slipped, wraithlike, out of his grasp. The door to the room slid open, and it floated out into the hallway. Floated? How did it fly? It didn't have wings!

No matter. Dalet chased it down the hallway, all too aware of his breath clouding in the air, unaware of the ice-rimmed footprints he left on the floor.

The imp snaked through the air, always just short of his fingertips as he flailed at it. "Get back here!" Dalet growled, making another grab at that prehensile tail. His next step found air instead of metal, and he tumbled down the blue-black stairs.

oo

Viole heard the crash as he sprinted to the Vione's main hangar, and he whipped around in time to see Dalet fall in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. He ran to Dalet's side as the other Dragon Slayer pulled himself to his feet on the stair railing. Purple shadows rimmed Dalet's eyes, and he shivered so hard that his armor clanked and rattled. Granted, the temperature did feel like it had dropped, but not _that_ much!

"Dalet? Are you all right?" Viole asked as Dalet's amethyst eyes focused on a seemingly random spot past Viole's head. "Dalet? You can't be getting sick now!" Viole cried. "It's time to go!"

Dalet's hand, deathly cold even through his glove, closed around Viole's wrist. "I'm going to kill it," he said in a low voice. "Help me find it."

"Find _what?_"

Dalet released Viole suddenly and pointed at a spot on the floor. Viole frowned, seeing nothing of interest, and then froze—he could see nothing, but he heard the sound of—impossibly enough—talons scrabbling on the metal floor.

Dalet lunged forward, and the door to the hangar opened. He ran through hunched over, chasing something on the ground that only he could see. Only he could see, but Viole could still hear it.

"Dalet!" he cried, running after his friend, but some of the other Dragon Slayers had begun powering up their guymelefs with a whine that drowned out his call. Frantically he slid down the ladder past his Alseides, all the way down to the floor, where the pilots usually did not venture. Dalet was down there now, though, no longer chasing some unknown creature, but down on his hands and knees. He breathed on the floor, fogging the black metal white. Puzzled by this strange behavior, the others shut down their Alseides, plunging the hangar into silence.

Dalet finished writing something with his fingertip and straightened. "Dalet?" Viole ventured. Dalet was standing very close to the open hangar doors. If Viole accidentally startled him—he was sick, after all—

Viole took a step forward. Dalet began to back away slowly, his hands raised in front of him. Viole stopped. "It's me, Dalet!" he exclaimed. "It's just me!" He realized that, again, Dalet's eyes were not on him, but past him. He heard a second pair of footsteps travel past him. Dalet continued to back away, his eyes widening as the footsteps approached. He was getting too close to the hangar doors, far too close. Now he had only three steps to spare before he would fall—two steps—one—

Viole lunged forward as Dalet stepped out of the hangar doors. "Dalet!" he screamed.

One of the guymelefs—Migel's—sprang to life and shot down after Dalet, nearly knocking Viole out along with him. Viole knelt down and peered over the edge, watching Migel's Alseides grow smaller and smaller with the distance. He had to catch Dalet, he had to! Migel was one of their best in a guymelef, he had plucked birds out of the air with his Crima Claws. Surely he could fly quick enough—

Gatti's Alseides opened, and he stood slowly. Viole looked up. "Migel says," he began quietly, nearly too soft for Viole to hear, "that he wasn't fast enough. Dalet—he hit one of the canals. The water froze over, and he's—" Gatti swallowed hard. "He's dead."

Viole clenched his fists. _Dead!_

Gatti continued. "Migel is trying to get his body. Guimel, I need you to help him keep the Asturians under control. Viole, send word to your contacts. The rest of you, follow Chesta and spread out. We need to undo our plans, and fast. After this—well, we can't leave now."

_Dead._ Viole stood slowly. _Dead._ Dragon Slayers didn't die. It just didn't happen. Not like this.

He trudged to the spot where Dalet had written on the floor. What had he left as his suicide note?

Dalet's breath had frozen into a sheet of frost on the floor, feathery ice crystals that showed no signs of melting. In this strange medium, Dalet had left only three cryptic words.

"What he loves."

ooooo

Folken guided Dilandau to his chair before the lion statue, where the light was better, and bade him sit. Dilandau sought the seat with his hands before sinking down slowly. "We're really home," he said softly. "My Dragon Slayers. Where are my Dragon Slayers?"

"First things first," Folken told him. "Explain to me—calmly—what it is that you're seeing."

"I'm not seeing anything." Dilandau flexed his fingers nervously, the black leather of his gloves creaking, and batted at a drop of melted snow that trickled down his cheek. "That is, everything is white," he said slowly. "When the pillar of light came, it never faded."

"Close your eyes," Folken told him. Dilandau obliged, leaning into the back of his chair. Shaking a layer of ice from the hem of his cloak, Folken crouched next to him, laying his organic hand on the armrest. "This has happened before?"

"Once," Dilandau answered. His face had a strangely serene expression as he pulled the memory forth. He had not looked so angelic for a long time. "I was in the forest in the Mystic Valley. The pillar of light came, and it brought a woman." Dilandau frowned. "I think she was an Artisan, but I couldn't tell. I never actually saw her. From the time she came to the time it took her away, I could only see white.

"But she can't have anything to do with it. She's not here now." Folken tilted Dilandau's head back and gently pulled his eyelids open. The pupils shrank, bloody-red irises growing larger in the sudden light. Dilandau had a number of dark bruises on his pale skin, a few cuts where sharp pieces of ice had whipped by, but Folken just couldn't find anything wrong with his eyes. Not on the surface, anyway.

"Well?" Dilandau asked. Folken held a hand in front of his face.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Dilandau blinked. "I haven't the slightest idea, Strategos. I can't see them."

Folken sighed. "I don't know. Give me time to look over my books. In the meantime, we have other things to take care of."

"Your _books?_" Dilandau's voice rose in pitch. "You're just going to leave me like this?"

"Unless you would like me to surgically replace your eyes, I can't do anything for you at the moment. Have patience."

"What other things do we have to take care of?"

"Our guests," Folken told him softly. Dilandau seemed to calm.

"How many made it?" he asked, his voice even again.

"Only us," Folken replied. "Anna, Shays, Jay, and Arias. Calantha's body is here, but…" he trailed off.

Dilandau stiffened. "I risked my neck for nothing, then? Finally back in Zaibach, and I still have to put up with the freak and the egoist," he muttered.

"Don't complain," Folken told him. "At least you've come home. Their home is destroyed, they must learn how to make this their home."

"That's fine with me, as long as their home is on the other side of the Vione from mine."

Folken shook his head. After all that, still the same immutable Dilandau that he knew so well.

There came a soft knock at the door. "Enter!" Dilandau barked automatically. The door opened, and in stepped Chesta. Chesta stared at the strange group of people on the floor for a moment before walking around to stand before Dilandau. He bowed, pressing his fist to his heart.

"Lord Dilandau! Lord Folken!" he cried, his voice overflowing with joy, "you've finally returned!"

"Chesta?" Dilandau's face turned in the direction of Chesta's voice. "Is that you?"

"Yes, my lord!" Chesta reached for Dilandau's hand, but Folken pulled him aside. It relieved him that Chesta had been the first Dragon Slayer to stumble upon them. Judging from a distance, the boy seemed to have a sweet and empathetic disposition that one didn't usually find in Zaibach soldiers, a disposition which Dilandau would need. Neither would Chesta push to ask too many questions.

"I assume you are not in the middle of a task?" he asked. Chesta shook his head.

"No, sir, I've finished, and it's all been cleaned up." Folken paused at the peculiar answer, then filed it in his mind for later speculation and continued.

"Dilandau has been injured and will require time in the medical wing. Can you take him there?"

Chesta nodded. "Yes sir. Is there a particular doctor I should request to see him?"

"Yes. No doctor. Just a room. I'll look in on him myself later. You get some heat for his shoulder, and a blindfold. Can you find those?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I will be there to see him after I have taken care of a few other things."

"Yes sir." As Folken moved toward Shays and Arias, Chesta approached his master. "Lord Dilandau, Lord Folken has instructed me to take you to the medical wing."

"That sounds like a good idea." Dilandau stood and stepped down slowly, testing the place where his foot landed, until finally he was on flat ground. "Chesta?" He turned in a circle with his arms outstretched. "Chesta, where are you?"

"I'm right here," came the voice at his shoulder.

"Where?"

He felt a light hand on his wrist, another on his elbow. "I'm right here, Lord Dilandau. Can you walk?"

"Yes." He was too tired to point out that Chesta should not be questioning his commander's abilities. He was just worried. His voice sounded strained.

The door opened with a soft hiss, and they turned the corner into the hallway. "What's been happening since I've been gone?" Dilandau asked. Chesta paused a long time before finally answering.

"We've been searching for you, Lord Dilandau. Day and night, until Lord Folken disappeared, too. Then they sent—oh, we're coming to the stairs." Chesta guided Dilandau's hand to the railing, and Dilandau leaned against it, making his way up carefully. It wasn't so hard, once he got the hang of it, judged the distance between each step. Chesta took his arm again at the top, and they continued in silence.

"Finish," Dilandau ordered. "Who was sent?

"They sent General Adelphos to take control of the Vione," Chesta answered meekly.

"_What?_" Dilandau shouted, tearing his arm away. "_He's_ here? Taking over _my_ fortress!"

"Please, Lord Dilandau, we didn't have anything to do with it!" Chesta begged. "Let's keep going—he has a tendency to show up behind you whenever you talk about him—"

Dilandau's eye twitched angrily, but he nodded, and Chesta took his arm again.

"Well, what else? Is the bastard still here? He's certainly keeping it cold around here."

"Lord Dilandau," Chesta began, "perhaps you should rest before I tell you everything?" The echo of their footsteps changed as they entered the medical wing of the Vione, where the floor was solid sheets of white ceramic instead of black metal plates.

Dilandau's hand rose to slap Chesta for his impudence, but he could not see the Dragon Slayer's face, and he let his hand drop to his side.

"It's all cleaned up," a female voice said quickly. "He never drank it."

"Thank you," Chesta replied just as quickly, and a pair of footsteps rushed away.

"What was _that?_" Dilandau demanded.

"Oh—one of the maids," Chesta stammered. "Some cleaning chemicals were spilled into one of the water tanks this morning, and—"

"Liar," Dilandau interrupted. Chesta whimpered. "Why are you lying to me, Chesta? Am I on level with Adelphos now?"

"We've all been so scared," Chesta answered, sounding like he might cry. "You just disappeared, we didn't know if you were even alive. A lot of really strange things have been happening, and—you can't see, Lord Dilandau! I didn't want to worry you until you're better. We need you to get better, Lord Dilandau. We can't go on without you!"

Dilandau smiled. "You really are my men. You would rather die than betray me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Lord Dilandau!"

"You've stopped walking. Are we there?"

"Yes, Lord Dilandau."

Chesta helped Dilandau out of his snow-soaked armor in silence, stifling a gasp when he unwound the bandages and saw the blue-edged mountain dragon bite that trailed down his commander's shoulder. He guided Dilandau's arms through the sleeves of a soft, warm robe and tied it shut around his waist. He pulled back the blankets on the bed for Dilandau to lay down, and arranged them over Dilandau's legs once he had situated himself. It was a standard medical-wing bed, tilted in half so that he was propped up even if he leaned back all the way.

"I don't know why Lord Folken wanted a blindfold," Chesta said finally, "so I'm leaving it here at the foot of the bed. But this—" he heard a tearing sound, then Chesta shaking something, then that something was draped over his shoulder, radiating warmth into his cold skin. A recent discovery of Folken's, if he recalled correctly. The chemicals inside the cloth would heat when exposed to air. It stayed warm much longer than hot water, but never got hot enough to burn.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Lord Dilandau?"

"Come here." Dilandau stretched out his good arm until he found Chesta's armored hand. He reached up, trailing his fingers down Chesta's face, trying to imagine the expression it must hold. Chesta stood still and patient. Was it joy? Worry? No… "You're crying," Dilandau scolded.

The cheek beneath his fingertips disappeared as Chesta sunk down to his knees, burying his face in the blankets at Dilandau's side.

"Yes, Lord Dilandau!" he sobbed, his voice muffled. "I'm so relieved—that you're—you're alive!"

Dilandau searched again until his fingers touched soft hair, and rested his hand on the back of Chesta's head. He wanted to make sure that Chesta's head stayed down. He couldn't let Chesta see that he was crying, too.

A/N: There we go. In honor of Folken's upcoming 35th birthday, I didn't end this one in a cliffhanger. (Though I suppose there's still plenty of loose threads that need tying.)


	20. Chapter 20: Welcome Home

A/N: I'm not happy with this chapter at all…it could use a month more of editing, but it's been too long since I've last updated. Just thought I'd warn you.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 20 – Welcome Home**

Folken watched until the door had closed behind Dilandau and Chesta, then turned his full attention to the family before him. "Is everybody all right?" he asked first. They didn't reply immediately. Anna had to practically sit on top of her daughter in order to keep her still. Shays had Jay's arm pinned to the ground, the familiar syringe in his hand as he tried to line the needle up with a vein.

"Put that away," Folken told him. "Let her go. She can't hurt anything."

"Can't hurt anything?" Shays looked up at him. "Folken, this is a metal floor. She can hurt herself!"

"In a largely empty room," Folken replied. "Have you ever let her go before?"

"Of course not!" Shays scoffed. "Like I said, she'd hurt herself! Or someone else!"

"I'd like to try something. Let her go. Let her wear herself out."

The syringe disappeared from Shays's hand, and Anna reluctantly released Jay. Still wailing in fear, Jay immediately leapt to her feet and ran to the corner of the room, slapping her palms flat against the wall. She turned and ran across the room to the other wall, a sprinkle of melted snow trailing behind her on the floor, running straight into the wall before starting off in a new direction. "It's her fault!" she screamed, slipping on the wet floor before throwing her tantrum in yet another new direction. "It's her fault!"

"Are you certain that this is a good idea?" Anna asked softly. Folken held up a hand.

"Just watch," he assured her.

Her fists bruised and her movements slowing, Jay turned on Dilandau's despised lion statue, kicking at its chiseled mane to no avail. Abruptly she stopped, turned, strode back to the little group, rested her head on her mother's shoulder, and dropped off to sleep.

Shays sighed, massaging his temples wearily. "I'm getting too old for this."

"And I'm older still." Folken stood. "Now, follow me. I want to get you out of sight before I figure out what's going on around here. They'll have enough questions as it is." Assuming things had progressed normally in Zaibach, the military would likely have sent an officer to take charge of the Vione in his and Dilandau's absences. Gatti, as the third highest-ranking member of the Vione, would have been in charge otherwise. While he was an excellent soldier, he didn't have the training necessary to run an entire floating fortress. If luck had turned against them, Folken would find one of the Sorcerers stalking the Vione's halls. If luck had stayed with them, he would only find Adelphos.

"Master," Arias said softly. "Master Folken, Calantha can't follow with us." He reached out and closed her staring eyes.

"No," Folken agreed, glancing away from the puddle of blood and cold water spreading across the floor. "She cannot." Arias grasped the long icicle that had rammed through Calantha's body and tried to pull it out, but his hands only slid away.

"Can you fix her, Master?" he asked. Shays paused in lifting Jay.

"Don't ask such stupid questions," he snapped. "Not at a time like this!"

"Hush!" Anna told him.

Arias looked up at Folken, pleading with dark eyes that were so like Gwinnett's. "Can you fix her, Master?" he repeated.

"I'm afraid that I don't understand what you mean," Folken replied. "Fix her? I can remove the ice."

"Not just that." Arias clasped Calantha's cold hand in his. "Heal her. Bring her back. Like you did for me. Please, Master? I love her."

Folken sighed, kneeling next to Arias. "Fate is not magic, Arias," he explained patiently. "I was able to help you because you were not dead. I can't bring her back."

"Can I follow her, then?" Arias asked. "Since she can't follow us?"

Folken shook his head. "No, Arias. We need you here. You're not a Drifter any more, you see."

"I'm not?" Arias screwed up his face in confusion. "What am I, Master?"

Folken patted his shoulder. "From this moment on, you are a citizen of the Zaibach Empire, and privilege to all the freedoms and responsibilities that go with it."

"But, what am I, Master?" Arias pressed. "Even back home, I was a citizen of New Atlantis, and a Drifter. What am I now, Master?"

He really could not understand, could he? "You are Arias," Folken told him. "First, you must be Arias, and the rest will follow."

Arias looked up at him and broke into tears. "How am I supposed to be Arias without Calantha?" he sobbed. Folken smiled sadly.

"You'll have to find that out for yourself, I'm afraid. I don't think I'll be able to answer your questions for much longer." He stood, offering Arias his organic hand. "I'll send someone to clean her up. We'll make her look lovely again and give her a proper funeral." Arias took Folken's hand and pulled himself awkwardly to his feet. Shays, too, lifted Jay into his arms.

"I think she's gotten heavier since we left the Mystic Valley," he muttered.

"You're just tired. Shall I carry her?" Folken pressed a button on the wall, and the door slid open with a soft hiss.

"I can handle it."

"Suit yourself." Folken ushered Anna through the door, then Arias, still weeping, and finally Shays, turning sideways to keep his sister's head and legs from striking the doorway. He gestured for them to follow him and started briskly up one of the blue-black hallways. Folken gestured for them to follow him and started briskly up one of the blue-black hallways. "One of the guest suites should be available for you to use," he told them, back to the calm, even voice of the Strategos. "If not, then one of you—Arias, I suppose—could have Dilandau's room. He won't be needing it for awhile." He couldn't imagine that a guest suite wouldn't be open. The Vione had never filled them all, even during its initial duty of both conveyor and protector of Zaibach's various diplomats as it shuttled them about the continent. That would all depend upon whether or not the Vione was currently under the charge of Adelphos, or a Sorcerer. Well, whoever was in charge, they would have to send their presupposed guests packing at the Strategos's order.

Folken paused a moment at the door he finally chose. It had been a long time since these rooms had been used; what was the code to unlock them? He mentally ran through lists of numbers, trying to remember which code went with which door. "Oh, forget it." He tapped in the masterkey code, and the door's lock clicked. Two bedrooms, two beds each, and a small area joining them with table, chairs, and lamps. Shays laid Jay down, and she curled up around her pillow with a happy sigh.

"Will this be all right?" Folken asked, as Anna ushered Arias into a chair. "I'll have some clothes sent to replace yours while they're cleaned. I hope you'll enjoy it here. These quarters are reserved for special guests, so you should be comfortable. For the same reason, you're close to everything that's important—that is, the bridge or Dilandau's meeting room."

"I think this will all work out just fine," Anna said with a reassured sigh. "Just fine."

Folken nodded. "I'll leave you to get settled in, then. If you should need me, go to the bridge—it's down the hallway. They can call me anywhere."

Anna nodded, leaning over Jay to fix her limbs in a position more comfortable for sleeping. "Thank you, Folken."

"My home is yours, Mother." Folken slid the door shut and turned. He could hear a familiar voice down the hallway, growing closer. The sooner he could remove Adelphos from the Vione, the better. He drew himself up as the general turned the corner.

"Strategos Folken!" Adelphos exclaimed, attempting to hide his surprise. "You've returned to us!"

"Indeed," Folken said evenly, preparing himself for a verbal battle. He had a few things to say that Adelphos would not be pleased to hear.

The door behind Folken opened, and Shays stepped into the hallway. "Folken, I need to talk to—" He spied Adelphos and trailed off. "Who are you? Why are you staring at me like that?" he demanded. Adelphos, who had indeed been staring at Shays, looked to Folken, then back to Shays, then back to Folken again.

"The devil help me, there's two of them!" he groaned.

Two of--? Folken almost laughed as he realized what Adelphos was referring to. Their High Artisan cloaks, the kismet marks—to Adelphos, Shays must looked like a younger brother, just as eccentric as he.

"General, I thank you for your attention to this fortress in my absence. You may return to your own command."

Adelphos blinked, trying to process Folken's quick dismissal as Folken turned to Shays. "What is it?"

"I need to speak with you." Shays eyed Adelphos, a small smirk touching his lips. "Though I suppose you're going to have your hands full for a time dealing with this Drifter?"

"Most likely."

"It can wait, then." Shays looked Adelphos up and down again with disapproval and disappeared back into the room.

"I have been instructed," Adelphos began, a little too loudly, "to put this fortress back together again, and I do not intend to leave until I have completed that mission!"

"Dilandau has been found and returned to the Vione," Folken told him. "That was the object of your assignment, I imagine?"

"Are you aware, Strategos, that this fortress's soldiers have tried to poison me?"

That took Folken aback. Poison? The Vione's soldiers? Impossible. But for all of Adelphos's faults, he had never been one to imagine plots against his life. "In that case, General, I believe it would be most conducive for your safety to remove yourself and any of your soldiers to your fortress. I will investigate this matter personally while Dilandau is recovering." He really doubted that one of the Vione's soldiers would attempt to poison Adelphos, despite their distaste for him. He suspected a spy in their midst.

To his surprise, Adelphos nodded curtly. "I've documented the strange occurrences that have been taking place on this fortress since your departure. At the very least, you're going to have several mischievous officers to sift out." He turned—"my report is waiting for you." –and strode away.

Folken sighed. Well, that had been easy. He would only be rid of Adelphos temporarily—but really, his knowledge would eventually prove helpful. He was hardly a hindrance to Zaibach's army, but he held too many prejudices and grudges to be a real asset, either.

Still, it was better than finding, say, Garufo in charge.

As he made his way to the Vione's bridge, Folken wondered what 'strange occurrences' Adelphos had been referring to. The Dragon Slayers could certainly be a group of mischief-makers when they wanted to—as is the way of all teenage boys. But they kept their antics to themselves, and from Dilandau's irritated complaints, those antics only involved startling or disgusting each other with various unpalatable combinations of the cafeteria's menu.

He lifted a hand to press the bridge door's control, but he had not touched the button when the door flew open and one of the Dragon Slayers hurtled past him. The boy skidded to a stop, his glasses nearly falling off his face, and did a double-take, staring at Folken. Try as he might, Folken could not place this one's name. Within the Dragon Slayers, there was an unofficial inner circle whose skills Dilandau had, however much unconsciously, valued more than the others. This was not one of them.

"What's wrong?" Folken questioned, ignoring the soldier's surprise. He probably should have phrased that differently, he contemplated. The Dragon Slayer could probably give him a list of hundreds of things that Folken would need to straighten out; hopefully he would get the one that was the cause of the boy's hurry.

"Sir!" The Dragon Slayer straightened, his heels clicking together and his fist snapping to his breast. "Lord Folken, Dalet has died. Migel just brought his body back."

"Dead?" Folken pressed. "How?" This would come as a hard blow to Dilandau. Folken couldn't imagine what kind of combat situation could get one of the soldiers killed while the Vione was floating in the middle of Palas. He couldn't imagine what kind of disease Zaibach could not cure that Dalet could have contracted in his absence. He couldn't imagine—

"Suicide, sir," the Dragon Slayer answered reluctantly. "We all saw it. He jumped out of the hangar."

Suicide?

That definitely did not sound like a Dragon Slayer's usual behaviour. They would never think of taking their own lives, as long as they could still be of service to Dilandau.

Folken paused. As long as they could still be of service…

Unless they thought that they no longer had a Dilandau to serve.

"I will attend to this situation," Folken told the Dragon Slayer. "I want you to find Gatti and tell him to assemble the Dragon Slayers. There is something very important in the hospital that you should see."

The Dragon Slayer saluted. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

Dilandau waited for Folken to come, but he never did. At least, he never came before Dilandau dropped off to sleep. When he finally woke several hours later, he mentally berated himself, then changed his mind. After getting pummeled into the ground by hail, it was only natural that he'd need some rest. He was getting a little tired of waking up with a new assortment of aches, cuts, and bruises. It didn't seem to be all that bad this time, not too much damage. For once.

Except, of course, that he couldn't see.

Dilandau reached up to touch the soft cloth tied over his eyes. _So that was what Folken wanted it for. He must have been by after all._

_I guess he doesn't know what's wrong with me._ Somehow, that didn't seem to matter quite so much right now. The important thing was that he was back, he was home, and the Artisans and their insane caste system had no control over him anymore. _He_ was in charge now.

"Chesta?" he asked to the air. "Are you still here?"

"I'm here, Lord Dilandau," the voice answered immediately, sounding much more cheerful than before. "We're all here."

"All of you?" Dilandau asked. They were all here? All safe? "Gatti?"

"Here, Lord Dilandau." After a pause, Gatti's gloved fingers brushed against the back of his hand, reassuring Dilandau that he really was there.

"Migel?"

"Here, Lord Dilandau." Again, the touch.

"Guimel?"

"Here, Lord Dilandau."

"Viole?"

"Here, Lord Dilandau."

"Dalet?"

Pause.

"Dalet?" Dilandau repeated. He could hear the Dragon Slayers shifting uncomfortably. "Dalet? Where is Dalet?" Nobody spoke.

Dilandau groped in the air until he found something, which turned out to be Viole's collar, and gave him a good shake. "_Where_ is Dalet?" he demanded. "Why won't you tell me? What's gone wrong?"

"Lord Folken told us not to tell you," Viole confessed. His skin felt awfully cold. Was he ill? Or just afraid of Dilandau, like usual?

Dilandau shoved Viole away. "Folken!" he shouted. He heard Viole stumble into one of the other Dragon Slayers. "Dammit, one of you tell me where Dalet is!"

Nobody spoke. Dilandau reached out again, to find one of them and give him a good punch to jog his memory, but all he got was empty air and the sound of shuffling feet as they moved away. "Since when do you take orders from Folken over me?" he growled.

"Lord Folken said that it was for your own good," Chesta spoke up timidly. "He said that you shouldn't have any shocks right now."

Dilandau scowled. _After all that time I spent in the Mystic Valley, I really don't think that anything here will be able to shock me, Folken!_ He crawled out of bed and found the nearest wall, feeling his way to the door. "Folken!" he screamed, storming into the hallway, running a hand down the cold wall to orient himself. "Folken! I want to talk to you!" He could hear a clatter of footsteps behind him, and he could sense the Dragon Slayers' reluctance to pursue and seize their own commander. "Folken!"

Cold fingers closed around his wrist—Folken's mechanical hand. "You're lucky I was nearby," Folken told him stiffly. "My name isn't a summoning charm, you know. I do have things to do."

"Yeah, like commanding the Dragon Slayers!"

"Would you have rampaged all over the Vione until you found me?"

"Where is Dalet?" Dilandau demanded. He didn't care if Folken had other things to do; fixing him was supposed to be one of the top priorities on that list. "What happened to him? Why wasn't he here? Why won't anybody tell me anything?"

Folken paused. "Everybody out," he ordered. Armor clanked as the Dragon Slayers immediately complied, and Folken led Dilandau back into his room.

"If your rest your eyes," Folken explained, "your vision may come back. That's why you're wearing the blindfold. The only thing left to try is rest. It won't hurt anything if you take it off, but you should leave it on, in case you have strained yourself."

"You can't just fate-alter me?" Dilandau asked. A twinge of pain in his arm as Folken put his hands on Dilandau's shoulders reminded him that that didn't work on everything after all.

"It's very strange. You're usually so receptive to destiny alteration, I don't understand why I can't heal you." Folken pressed on Dilandau's shoulders, forcing him to sit down on the bed. "I wanted to deliver this news to you myself."

"Deliver it, then!"

"Dalet is dead."

That caught Dilandau off-guard. After all that arguing, he hadn't expected Folken to just tell him. "Repeat that," Dilandau ordered. He must have heard wrong. He had to have heard wrong.

"Dalet is dead," Folken told him again.

Dead? One of his own Dragon Slayers? "H-how?" Dilandau stammered.

"Suicide. Most of the Dragon Slayers saw him jump from the Vione's hangar." Folken's hands disappeared. "He thought that you would never return, and decided to end his life. Or so it would seem." The mattress creaked as Folken sat down next to him. "But when Migel flew down to retrieve the body, he found that Dalet had landed in one of the canals. We're over Palas right now," he added.

"What difference does that make?" Dilandau muttered. "Water wouldn't be enough to cushion a fall from up here."

"No," Folken replied. "Hopefully, we'll know more once I've had a chance to look at Dalet's body."

"You haven't even examined his body yet?" Dilandau asked bitterly.

"We're still trying to get him out of the ice that froze around him when he hit the canal."

Dilandau froze. Ice? "The Everlasting Frost?" he asked.

"It may be spreading from the Mystic Valley already," Folken admitted.

"Can we do anything about it?"

"You can rest," Folken told him. "Somehow I have a feeling that you're important to all this. We need you well again."

Dilandau searched out his pillow and laid down again, hugging it to his chest. Dead. "All right, then, Strategos. I'll rest."

"Good."

Folken rose and left silently, his footsteps echoing away.

Dead. Dilandau buried his face in the soft pillow, turning away form the door. "But you didn't have to leave me in here all alone, Strategos," he mumbled.

Dead.

Alone.

Dead.

Alone.

He hugged the pillow tighter.

Gone.

* * *

In the hallway, Viole leaned against the wall with a sigh. Things just couldn't get any worse, could they? Dalet dead, Dilandau blind…well, Dilandau could be dead, too. At least they had him back.

At least they had him back.

But if it had been only a few minutes earlier, Dalet wouldn't have had to die.

Or would he? Everyone was saying that it had to have been suicide, but Viole had been the closest. He had seen Dalet's face. He had heard those footsteps. It was as if Dalet had seen something that he could only hear, and he had been trying to get away from that something when he fell off the Vione.

He hadn't told Folken that. Such superstitious nonsense would sound absurd coming from a soldier of Zaibach. But how else could they explain the way the water had frozen around Dalet in the canal?

"Viole?" Viole looked up and saw Migel, standing with his thumbs hooked in his sword belt. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Viole answered, pushing away from the wall.

"You shouldn't be standing around alone like that. It's not safe anymore."

"I know what you mean."

"I can't believe that we managed to undo all our plans before General Adelphos found out about them."

"Just got lucky, I guess."

They started walking.

"We could use a little luck right now," Migel commented.

"Yeah."

They meandered around the corner—and stopped. Their way was blocked by a woman. An old woman, she stood with her back to them, combing out her long, white hair.

Viole frowned. What was a civilian woman doing on the Vione? Moreover, that comb in her withered hand looked very familiar. Two amethysts set as eyes in a silver wolf's head…he had seen one like it before…Dalet had found one on the day that he began acting strangely…

"Run!" Viole ordered, whirling around. He didn't know how he knew, but they had to get away. As he began to run, a familiar shriek pierced the air, draining the adrenaline from his limbs. Viole's knees buckled beneath him, and he lay sprawled on the floor for a moment, terrified, as the voice echoed off the metal walls.

He lay there for a moment, frozen, until cold silence descended over him again. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw nothing. No woman. No Migel, either. He clambered to his feet and staggered back up the hallway, his ears still ringing.

He found Migel kneeling on the floor, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. He was mumbling something to himself, shaking so hard that his armor rattled. Viole leaned down next to him, trying to make out his words.

"She melted," Migel whispered. "She melted. She melted."

Just like before.

* * *

Early the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise, sparkling pink on Palas's canals, Folken waited in the Vione's main hangar. Shays was awake, but he had declined company. He would have it soon enough.

In shifting around the stacks of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk in his absence, Folken had found a letter addressed by hand. The message was very short, very simple.

_Lord Folken,  
We have officially completed our training and will be released to return to the Vione in three days._

It had been postmarked three days ago. How could he have forgotten? Naria and Eriya had entered the final testing phases of their training when he left the Vione to run after Dilandau. He had no doubt that they would pass with flying colors.

Finally, a spark of hope. He had come home, and he would have his girls back again. Did news of the Vione's odd happenings travel all the way to the training centers in Zaibach's capital? He hoped that he had not worried them.

Two streaks of pressurized steam trailing behind two black dots appeared in the sky.

He had designed their Teiring units to be beautiful as well as functional. The long hair that trailed behind the guymelefs collected and stored the energy from the sun that allowed the Teiring its incredible six-miet bursts of speed. They required only one energist to function. They had hands as well as Crima Claws. They were light, quick, fast—just like Naria and Eriya.

The two dark spots grew until he could make out the shapes of the two guymelefs—the Knight of Silver and Knight of Gold, they were named, though the two machines had gone down in Zaibach's registration as "Experimental Units Teiring 01 and 02." The white streaks disappeared, and the guymelefs unfolded into their humanoid shapes, gliding up into the hangar and docking smoothly.

The two Teirings opened, and two familiar shapes climbed out, swiftly ascending the ladders to the network of bridges that spanned the ceiling.

Eriya's eyes lit up when she spied Folken, and she dropped the bag over her shoulder onto the floor, breaking into a run and throwing her arms around Folken's neck. "Lord Folken!" she cried happily, "you're here to meet us!"

"There was a rumor floating around that you had disappeared," Naria explained, picking up Eriya's abandoned bag and swinging it at her sister. Eriya released Folken and caught it. "We didn't believe it."

"Not for a minute!" Eriya agreed. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if that _Dilandau_ really did get himself kidnapped," she growled, lashing her tail. Folken shook his head, chuckling. Their rivalry with Dilandau had started on the day that they met, and apparently their absence had done nothing to diminish it.

"Did that little runt really disappear, Lord Folken?" Naria asked. Folken nodded.

"There have been many strange things going on lately, and I'll fill you in on them today. But, for now, welcome home."

"It's good to be home, Lord Folken."

"It is!"

Folken watched the twins start toward the door. How they had grown! They had only been ten years old when he caught them tumbling off a cliff, following a dream he had had the previous night. Thinking that he was one of the poachers they had been running from, they had bitten him—he still had scars on his organic hand from their teeth. They were reborn that day. He had given them new names. He had raised them alongside Dilandau, destined for great things in the Empire.

And now here they were, all grown up, Zaibach's special Enhanced-Luck Soldiers.

_I'm so proud of them._ Folken suddenly found himself blinking back tears. _Is this what you felt when you looked at your children, Gwinnett?_

Naria paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. "Lord Folken? Are you coming?"

Fighting off a surge of emotion, Folken stepped forward and embraced them.

"Lord Folken?" Eriya looked up at him quizzically. He understood her confusion. The two were fond of hugging him, but he had never returned the gesture before. "Lord Folken, why are you crying?"

Folken shook his head, holding them tighter. "I'm just glad you're home," he whispered. "I'm just glad you're home."

* * *

Folken was especially thankful for the twins' presence three days later, when Naria dragged one of the Dragon Slayers into an examining room in the medical wing. Migel. He had fallen strangely ill and grown steadily worse. Eriya followed after Naria, supporting a shaking Viole.

Naria dumped Migel onto the table and frowned at her arms, brushing off the ice that had frozen on her sleeves. "What's wrong with this guy?" she exclaimed. Viole sank to the floor, his hands pressed over his ears.

"He's saying the same thing as Dalet," he moaned. "It comes in and sits on his chest at night. It torments him. He's going to kill it once and for all." His eyes darted wildly around the room. "But there's something else, too. I can hear it. Footsteps!" He looked pleadingly at Eriya. "Tell me that you can hear it too!"

Eriya looked up at Folken. "I don't hear any footsteps."

But Folken was too busy wrestling with Migel to notice Viole. "Help me, Eriya!" He and Naria struggled with Migel's limbs, trying to hold him down. Migel's eyes were wide with fright, and he kept trying to lunge for the door, as though trying to catch something…or get away from something. His skin had gone pale and cold; his lips were a dangerous shade of bluish-purple. His panting breath clouded in the air, and bits of ice clung to the tips of his hair.

"What's wrong with him?" Eriya cried, pinning down Migel's legs.

"Don't let him leave!" Viole begged. "Or he'll do anything to get away, just like Dalet!"

Folken caught Migel's head between his hands, forcing the Dragon Slayer to look up at him. "What are you seeing, Migel? What are you trying to get away from?"

"Her!" Migel gasped, "her and her pet!" Then his voice stopped, though his lips continued to move. He stopped his struggling.

"Let him go," Folken ordered. Naria and Eriya reluctantly released their grip on Migel.

Migel searched for something in his pocket, and, finding it, turned over and started scratching at the surface of the table.

"They're leaving," Viole breathed. "They've stopped moving. I think they're leaving."

Naria and Eriya hid behind Folken, watching Migel. "This is starting to scare me, Lord Folken," Eriya said in a small voice. Folken tilted his head to make out the characters that Migel was vandalizing the table with.

Viole threw his hands up in front of his face, as if to deflect something flying at him. Or running. "Stop laughing!" he cried.

"What he loves," Folken read slowly.

Migel collapsed on his side, the comb falling from his hand and clanking on the floor. He pressed a hand to his throat, his mouth and eyes both open wide.

"He's not breathing, Lord Folken," Eriya noted gingerly. "He's not even trying." His chest wasn't even moving.

"I think he's trying, Sister. Look at his face."

Migel's hand fell away from his neck. His eyes relaxed. He lay unmoving.

Folken stared hard at the Dragon Slayer's body. He had never seen such an unusual death. It frightened him. Certainly Viole, Naria, and Eriya were scared out of their wits.

"You two can go," he told them. "Thank you for helping me bring him here." The twins wasted no time in scrambling out the door.

Folken continued his examination of Migel. Something still struck him as odd about the Dragon Slayer's body. What was it?

It hit him. Migel's tongue was black.

Folken peered into Migel's mouth more closely. His tongue, his mouth—even his throat. They were black.

* * *

Dilandau stared at the ceiling. At least, he would have, if he had been able to see.

Dalet was dead. Viole was well on his way to going crazy. And now Migel was dead, too. Internal frostbite. Who had ever heard of internal frostbite? But Folken had cut him open, and he was black all the way down to his lungs. He'd just stopped breathing. Who had ever heard of that?

"He's dead," Dilandau said to the empty air. "He's dead."

Dead.

Alone.

Dead.

Alone.

…Gone.


	21. Chapter 21: Shelter Me

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 21 – Shelter Me**

Hitomi opened one eye. She closed it and opened the other eye. She opened both at once. _Reality check. Ceiling in the air. Walls holding it up. Floor under it. Body between the ceiling and the floor. The sky is blue, and two plus two still seems to make four. Okay, everything is all right. Reality check says reality is in place._ And, even better, it seemed to be the same reality which she had vacated when she had fainted.

She had fainted again. Hitomi rolled her eyes with a soft sigh, sitting up. She was very happy that her talents were getting stronger, but these blackouts were a rather nasty side effect. And the visions—they just felt a little too…close.

Hitomi pocketed the tarot cards stacked on her bedside table. She hadn't been changed out of her clothes, so she couldn't have been out for too long. It was still daylight. Unless she had been out for a whole day—but it didn't really matter.

She was a little annoyed at Millerna for leaving her alone. She had been doing a tarot reading for Millerna, after all, the least the princess could have done was have someone in the room to keep an eye on her. What if she had fallen into a coma or something? Hitomi didn't know anything about those soldiers Millerna was in contact with!

_Well, she would have noticed if it'd been days and I still hadn't woken up, Hitomi conceded. But still, I'll bet Allen would have stayed with me, if he wasn't locked up in the dungeon._

She put her feet in her shoes, adjusted her clothes, and left her room with a feeling of pride that she had become used to these odd situations so well.

_Millerna…Millerna…come on, where are you, Millerna? I want to know what's going on with the soldiers you were going to help out. Come on, Millerna, where are you? This palace is huge, don't make me search the whole thing!_

"Oh, Hitomi!" Millerna flung open a door behind Hitomi and veritably bounced into the hallway. "I have wonderful news!"

Hitomi brightened. They could certainly use some wonderful news. "What is it?"

Millerna ushered Hitomi into the room she had just bounced out of. Allen and Van looked up at her. Well, banzai! Good news personified!

"Van!" Hitomi exclaimed, "Allen! You're free!" Allen nodded.

"With no small thanks to our good Princess."

Hitomi couldn't stop looking back and forth between the three, even though it made her neck hurt. "This is great! What happened?"

"Zaibach found their missing soldier," Van explained. "He would have been the one who led the attack against Fanelia, but he denies it. I don't believe him."

"Either way," Allen interrupted smoothly, "this Dilandau Albatou also denies that we ever attacked the Vione, so King Aston has set us free."

"He's done us a huge favor," Van glowered, "whether he realizes it or not, and I can't avenge Fanelia with things as they are. I owe him." Clearly, the young king was upset, torn between two honors, and Hitomi couldn't really blame him for being in a bad mood.

"So…what now?" she ventured.

"That all depends on Zaibach's next move," Allen explained. "We need to keep a close eye on them now that they have their missing soldier back."

"They have plans for him," Van interjected. "Big plans, but we can't do anything until we know what they are."

"Eries is continuing my correspondence with the Zaibach soldiers," Millerna added, sitting and smoothing her skirt. "She's had more experience with these things." The childlike excitement from a few moments earlier was gone, replaced with cool control. For the first time, Hitomi had no trouble believing that she really was a princess. "These Dragon Slayers have already demonstrated that they're more loyal to their commander than to their country. They may be a valuable source of information." Allen and Van nodded their agreement.

"I've been thinking, Van," Hitomi announced.

"About what?"

"About Fanelia."

"Do tell."

"What if Zaibach didn't mean to attack Fanelia?"

Van started, a look of disgust plastered across his face. "what are you talking about? You don't just _accidentally_ burn a country to the ground!"

"That's not what I mean," Hitomi retorted, her cheeks growing hot. "I mean, what if they were fighting something else, and it just sort of happened to be in Fanelia?"

Van frowned. "What, a runaway criminal or something? Fanelia's treaties didn't allow other countries to do that sort of thing in _our_ borders."

"The floating fortress," Allen said slowly. "It was covered in ice when we came to find you. In the middle of summer."

"I've been getting a bad feeling lately," Hitomi continued. "Something bad is coming, and I don't know if it's Zaibach, or something else."

"Why don't you just ask the Zaibach soldier?"

They all looked up at Eries, who stood in the doorway, one hand on the door's handle, and official-looking letter held up in the other.

* * *

Arias stared at his face in the polished surface of the door. He hardly recognized himself, and that wasn't just because he had never seen his face in something more reflective than water before. He had taken a bath, a real bath, with soap and towels, and stripped off all the layers of dirt that he had accumulated. A maid had come to him with a comb, sat him down in a chair, and worked all the knots and tangles out of his hair in that special painless way that only women could seem to manage. He had comfortable clothes of a nice, soft fabric, and shoes.

But he didn't have Calantha. He would have traded the bath and the shoes in a heartbeat to have her back again—but, of course, he didn't have a choice about that.

He lifted a hand and knocked on the door. After a moment he heard a click, and he knew that he could enter. He slid the door open and limped into Folken's bedroom.

The Strategos looked busy to Arias—he had stacks of papers on his desk, and those two cat-women were perched cross-legged on his bed with more. But, he had told Arias to come here 'once he was situated'. Shays hadn't know what Folken wanted of him.

Arias hoped that Folken would put him to work. He wanted to show his gratitude to Folken for getting them all out of that awful snowstorm. He wanted to make himself useful.

"You wanted to see me, Master?" he asked, shutting the door behind him and scraping his hair back out of his face. It had gotten clean, but not cut. Folken looked him up and down, and by his smile, Arias assumed that he must approve of what he saw.

"Arias, good." Folken pushed aside the paper that he was perusing. "How are Mother and Shays and Jay today?"

"They're good," Arias answered. "Mistress Jay has been doing a lot better since we got here." Folken frowned slightly. "Jay, I mean," he corrected. Folken had been most insistent that Arias should not refer to them by their titles anymore. 'They no longer have power over you,' he had said. 'You're a citizen of Zaibach just like them.' "Lady Anna has been spending a lot of time with—" he had to search for the name "—the one named Chesta, to learn about this country, and she tells us what she learns." It was all right to call her 'Lady', Folken had said, because she was older than him, and it was good to show respect to your elders. Mistress Anna was kind and had earned his respect, Folken had said, but Shays had not, and Jay couldn't understand the concept of titles. Arias found it all very confusing.

"Give me something to do," he blurted out. "Everyone else here has a job to do. I want to be useful, too!" He wasn't sure how to address Folken anymore. Folken had said that it was proper to call him 'Lord', like Anna, or 'Strategos'. What was a Strategos?

Folken nodded. "That's why I've called you here," he said, and Arias sighed with relief.

"What should I do?"

Folken looked to the two cat-girls. "Naria?" he said. The silver cat-woman stood, setting aside her papers. She spun smoothly, and before Arias could move, her heel slammed into his leg. He heard the sickening snap of bone, and he cried out in pain, falling to the floor.

"Master?" Arias asked softly. What had he done? Had he made Folken mad?

He felt the Strategos's organic hand grip his shoulder. "Don't move," Folken told him, and Arias obligingly froze.

The cat-women were dragging something out from beneath Folken's bed, two poles—a stretcher?

"Make sure that it's done properly this time," Folken told the cat-women, helping Arias onto the stretcher. Arias stared at the ceiling, confused and hurt.

Folken's face appeared above him, smiling kindly. "Naria and Eriya are going to take you to get your leg fixed," he told Arias. "Correctly, this time. You won't limp anymore. There's nothing to be afraid of." Arias nodded. "And after the doctors have set it, Eriya is going to teach you to read."

_To read!_

* * *

Everything was so bright. Dilandau almost feared that he had begun to forget what colours looked like. He couldn't see anything but the white light, burning his eyes, and it had been that way for so long. He wanted to close his eyes against it, but they were already closed, and still it burned, oh, it burned! Why? Why had he been inflicted with this impossible malady? What had he done to deserve this?

He couldn't even find rest in his sleep. Sleep was cold, and bright, like sunlight reflecting off the snow. Or else it was hot, full of fire, which was even worse because it burned even hotter than the day's white light.

Yet, even more worrisome than that were the noises from his dreams. They had begun to accompany him through the day. _Albatou!_ The fire would call, in a wavering voice that sounded vaguely female. Far more persistent now was the absurd little chant that his subconscious had surely pulled from his waking hours. _La, ra, la, ra…_

_Damn that little wretch!_ his dream-self would always think.

Dilandau's fingers worked nervously at a loose thread in the corner of his pillow; he could feel feathers falling into his lap as the string pulled free. _La, ra,_ came the faint echo in his waking mind as the light burned. _La, ra, la, ra, la, RA!_

Dilandau shrieked and hurled the ruined pillow across the room.

Folken ducked as the pillow sailed over his head, trailing feathers. It smacked into the wall with a discontented _foof_, exhaling the rest of its contents, and plopped to the floor. "Dilandau?" he ventured.

"I think it was a mistake to bring Jay here," Shays said, pushing his sister behind him.

"She wanted to see him, not you," Folken pointed out, "and I think it would do him good to have visitors."

"I want to see Dilandau!" Jay insisted behind Shays. Her speech had continued to improve ever since she had come to the Vione. Shays inclined his head toward Dilandau, who was crouched on his bed as though ready to spring.

"I'm not certain he wants to see you."

"Dilandau," Folken said firmly, "lay back down. You're not well. What's wrong?"

"Damn right I'm not well!" Dilandau spat, his voice carrying a note of hysteria. "What's that woman doing here?"

"She's come to pay you a visit," Folken repeated.

Dilandau knelt there, his hands on the foot of his bed, considering, or listening. Folken gave Jay a gentle nudge forward.

"I wouldn't just yet—" Shays started, but Jay reached out and patted Dilandau on the head.

Dilandau's hand whipped up and caught Jay's wrist. In another movement he had her straddled on the floor, his hands clenched around her neck. "Get out of my head, woman!" Dilandau shouted. "Get out of my head!"

Shays twitched a hand, and Dilandau's arms snapped to his sides. He flew across the room and would have smashed into the wall had Folken not intervened, lowering Dilandau gently to his bed. Jay scrambled to her feet to hide behind Shays, and Folken could see dark handprints on her neck. Burns, he realized, like Dilandau had dealt to Shays back in the Mystic Valley. But worse. He closed his eyes.

_For some reason, Fate is very interested in you, Dilandau. I wonder why?_ Even more, he wondered why he had never noticed it before.

"You told me that you would get things under control, Folken," Shays said in a low voice. Jay dragged on his cloak, crying, trying to pull him toward the door. "Do you call this control? Do you really have that monster under control?"

"He isn't a monster," Folken quickly replied. Shays waved Jay off as she switched from his cloak to his sleeve.

"Get rid of her," Jay insisted, glaring at Dilandau. "I don't like her!"

"That's not a woman, Jay, and you wanted to visit him just a moment ago."

"I don't like her anymore!"

Dilandau had not moved since Folken set him down. Folken moved to the young man's side. He was trembling, his muscles stiff. Folken untied the soft blindfold, and beneath his red eyes were wide, the pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

"I want both of you out," Folken said. They weren't helping anything. Neither Shays nor Jay moved, but he didn't have the time to fight with them right now. He rested his fingertips on Dilandau's forehead, and paused.

There were consequences for tampering too frequently with destiny. Even the most skilled dancer would make a false step eventually, and he had been dancing quite a lot lately.

"I'm back in Zaibach," Folken said to himself. "Here, we can do anything without that risk." He took Dilandau's wrist in his hand instead, and the soldier's pulse was racing.

"Dilandau," Folken said firmly, "can you hear me?"

Dilandau's eyes relaxed, his limbs going slack. He sat up suddenly. "Alone!" he gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth as though he would vomit. He slumped to the side, and would have fallen out of bed if Folken had not caught him and laid him down.

"Dilandau." Folken shook his shoulder. "Dilandau?" Nothing. Pulse? Fast, but acceptable. "Dilandau. Wake up, Dilandau."

"There's nothing wrong with him," Shays interrupted, still standing there by the wall. Jay alternated between glaring at Folken and at Dilandau, fidgeting and poking a finger at the burns on her neck. "I looked. He's fine."

"Clearly, he's not." But Folken couldn't think of an explanation for this strange behaviour, either. Did Dilandau have a history of madness in his family? Was some childhood trauma finally coming to the surface? He didn't know, he just didn't know enough about Dilandau. There were only four people with that sort of information about him—

Folken froze.

The Sorcerers had that sort of information. Only the Sorcerers. Even Dilandau didn't know where he had come from. As Strategos, Folken was privilege to all of the Sorcerers' research information, but they had become so defensive whenever he brought up Dilandau's past that he had dropped the subject, deciding that he would rather not know.

He could still get it. He could contact the Sorcerers, pull rank and demand a copy of all the data relating to Dilandau. They couldn't refuse him, and they kept organized files. But, could Dilandau afford the time for him to receive and process all that information?

Destiny said that there was nothing wrong with him, but clearly, Dilandau was not in a stable condition.

Folken leaned over and pressed a button on the wall, speaking to the air. "Girls?"

Naria's voice answered him, crackling slightly with static. "Yes, Lord Folken?"

"I need you to do something for me."

"Right away."

"I need you to contact Garufo. Tell him that Dilandau has fallen severely ill. Give him the Vione's coordinates."

A short scuffle and a shocked, muffled meow. "Are you sure about that, Lord Folken?" Eriya asked.

"Yes, I'm certain."

"Well, okay, then. We'll get them here as fast as we can."

"Thank you." Folken released the button. "Forgive me, Dilandau," he said softly. "I have to do something I promised you I would never do."

* * *

The Sorcerers arrived at the Vione in a matter of hours. They had already been en route to Palas on a matter for the Emperor, Garufo explained, but Folken was certain that they had been following the Vione in their small airship since their last encounter with Dilandau. Waiting for something to happen. For Folken to make a mistake. Well, finally, it had happened.

He shut Shays away while the Sorcerers were on board. If the Artisan had seen the destiny-ignorant men's cloaks, he would have had an apoplexy.

He had tried to accompany them while they took Dilandau on board their ship. Once Dilandau regained—well, maybe not consciousness, but lucidity—he would fly into a fit if he found the Sorcerers hovering over him. Garufo had downright refused to allow Folken aboard the airship. While he hadn't outright called Dilandau a hostage, he had implied it so explicitly that Folken had been forced to give up. Tangled in words and politics, he had nothing solid he could bring against the Sorcerers, and no way of knowing whether he had accidentally slipped a noose around Dilandau's neck—or his own.

The Sorcerers had, at least, agreed to keep their airship docked at the Vione unless it became clear that Dilandau could not be trusted here. The ship and fortress were tied together with strong steel cables, and Folken had palmed the key to the locks. They couldn't take Dilandau away without him knowing.

He tried to take some comfort in that. But, then, there were plenty of things that they could do to Dilandau right here.

He was unconscious, and yet he wasn't. That is, Dilandau was aware of rolling, lying down and rolling. He was aware that he was muttering, but his lips moved of their own accord, and he really had no idea what they were trying to say. They slurred it all together, at any rate.

Wings.

Dilandau would have sat bolt upright if he had not been strapped down. There! He had seen something just now, something besides the white light that obscured his vision.

"Folken," he heard himself say. Wings, Folken—where was Folken? He knew he wasn't moving of his own accord, but nobody answered him.

Sun.

There, he had seen something else, a flash of warm, yellow sunlight in the midst of the cold, white light. Was his vision returning to him?

He felt the straps that held him down fall away, and hands lifted him into the air. His Dragon Slayers? "Gatti?" he heard himself say. "Chesta? Dalet? Migel?"

The hands laid him down on cold, hard metal.

No Dalet. No Migel. They were dead.

Dilandau would have sworn that he saw a line of frost creep across his vision as his mind smashed back into his body.

"Tighter," Garufo instructed. Kuaru grunted and tugged harder on the leather strap. They'd already had to punch new holes to keep Dilandau's skinny limbs from slipping out. Too many, and the leather would start to lose its strength. He fastened the last of the buckles and gave the straps one final tug. They'd had no trouble getting Dilandau in, but all of them expected that to change. Already the albino had begun to strain against his bonds; his words were becoming clearer, if no more coherent. If he was going to rave, the least he could do was make sense about it!

Paruchi finished cleaning his spectacles on his sleeve, hooked them over his large ears, and peered at the unusual wound in the young soldier's shoulder. Foruma had removed the bandages and found them sticking to Dilandau's skin, but not by blood. No, the wound was quite clean, purple-tinged gashes that trailed down his arm. "Neither neat nor even," Kuaru noted. "Not likely made by a blade. The wound resembles scratches, perhaps by his own hand." He peered closer. "A very unusual infection." It looked like—but it couldn't be. Kuaru removed himself from the examining table to allow Garufo to lean in, and took the discarded bandages to another light. It couldn't be—but yes, it certainly looked like ice on the bandages. That made no sense, of course.

"Folken!" Dilandau yelped behind him, and he heard the leather creak. Yes, that was the spirit they had been expecting. "Where are you? Chesta?"

Of course, the Vione had been experiencing malfunctions in its temperature regulation systems. If Adelphos's reports were to be believed, the entire thing had frozen over!

"The alterations aren't holding," he heard Garufo announce with disgust. "We're going to have to take him back to the capital to repeat them."

Damn. That long trip, just for a bratty kid. _For our Emperor's ideal future,_ Kuaru reminded himself. He turned around.

Dilandau had begun to thrash left and right, his unseeing eyes wide and unfocused. That had probably been the first sign that their alterations were beginning to unravel—the problem with his eyesight. It was a good thing that Folken had not caught on.

"Shall I put him under?" Foruma asked, moving to prepare a syringe. Dilandau's howling had picked up in volume, as though shouting louder would make them pay more attention to him.

"If we want to make this trip in peace," Garufo spat.

"No!" Dilandau shouted, the first time so far that his words had had any correlation to his surroundings. Or maybe it had just been a coincidence.

Foruma gripped Dilandau's arm, lining the needle up. Kuaru resisted the urge to put his fingers in his ears. Putting the boy to sleep would keep him from hurting himself, and save them a good bit of hassle.

"Get away!" Dilandau screamed.

"Do you hear something?" Paruchi asked. Foruma paused, the needle still in the air, and for some reason, Dilandau fell silent.

_Scratch. Scratch._ Like something raking at the door.

Foruma took the chance to insert the needle into Dilandau's arm. As the plunger went down, Dilandau's head lolled to the side. He had gnashed his lips, and blood mixed with saliva in a trickle down the side of his mouth—and something licked from between his parted teeth. Something bright.

_Scratch. Scratch._ Louder, faster. _Scratch._

Frowning, Garufo turned Dilandau's face up. The young man sighed, and a tongue of flame burst from his mouth. Garufo shrieked and leapt back, and the door slid open, and something large and white barreled into the room with a roar.

* * *

Folken stared out of the bridge's window at the small airship that floated next to the Vione. Five hours, and he had heard nothing from the Sorcerers. They had agreed to report upon Dilandau's progress. They should know by now whether he would be all right, or if they would have to take him away. He had heard nothing. The sun had begun to sink, and the sky had begun to trade its blue for neon orange, and not a word.

The Dragon Slayers were getting anxious. He had spent little of those five hours on the bridge (he still had many things to take care of), but every time he came in, at least one of them was standing at the communications equipment. Usually it was two or three, at the moment, Gatti stood at his shoulder. The young man hadn't said a word.

This whole ordeal had to be terribly difficult for them. They had already lost Dalet and Migel to strangely horrific deaths; now they might be losing their leader—for the second time!

He was tempted to use Fate to look into the ship, to see _what_ exactly was going on. _I'm in Zaibach now,_ he reminded himself. Those who tampered with destiny too much would find that it eventually backfired.

He couldn't just stand here much longer, though. Something was wrong. Even without fate, he could feel it. It had been too long with no word.

"Too long," Gatti said softly, echoing Folken's thoughts. Folken nodded.

Viole shuffled up behind them, and Folken glanced back. The medical wing was certainly filling up fast lately. He had ordered Viole there this morning. The Dragon Slayer's eyes were glassy, his fingers and nose red and his skin pale, as though he had been standing outside in the cold. He had taken his armour off, and had a heated blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"You should be in bed!" Gatti chided, taking Viole's elbow. Viole shook his head.

"Whatever is on the Vione, it's not happy. I heard it shouting," he told Folken, adjusting his blanket. "And its pets are angry, too," he added, but he smiled. "They've stormed off. I think they might leave us alone for a bit."

Folken pressed a hand against Viole's forehead. His skin was clammy and chill—still no fever, though he certainly seemed delirious. He had confessed to Folken that he had been hearing strange noises ever since Dalet's death, noises that no one else could hear. The Vione's doctors had attributed it to stress and ordered him to rest, but Folken was beginning to wonder if there wasn't more to it. If only he had the time to stop and examine Viole!

"I think it has something to do with Lord Dilandau," Viole added.

Dilandau.

Folken turned to Gatti. "Take him back to bed, and see that he stays there," he ordered. Gatti nodded, but Folken could see the unspoken question in his eyes. "I'm going to go get Dilandau."

Folken strode briskly into the hangar, where the Sorcerers' airship was still docked. They couldn't unlock the cables, he had the key, but they had given them slack so that the ship drifted out farter than any human could jump. The Sorcerers hadn't counted on finding anything but humans aboard the Vione.

Folken pulled off his cloak and tossed it to the floor. Shays would have had a fit. He spread his wings, and with one easy jump glided to the airship's door. The Sorcerers had locked it, of course. But, the mechanical lock was merely a safety precaution to keep anyone from falling out, not a security device. Sliding a needle from inside his finger, Folken picked it easily, and pulled the door open just enough for him to slip inside.

He folded in his wings and shoved the door shut again. Nothing seemed amiss inside the airship. In fact, it felt almost pleasant. The quiet hallways had a peaceful stillness to them, and Folken could only assume that the Sorcerers had put Dilandau to sleep. The air in the hallway was warm, unusually so, and the blue torches that lit it somehow lacked their cold luster. These altitudes usually kept air on the cool side.

Strange, but not ominously so.

Folken made his way carefully but quickly through the hallways to the heart of the ship, where Dilandau and the Sorcerers would surely be waiting. Still he heard nothing but his own footsteps, his own breath, and the air was getting warmer. Folken reached up to unfasten the hook that kept his collar shut.

Perhaps the gashes in the door ahead of him explained the silence. Deep scratches, their edges sharp and shining, rent into the metal door. Folken couldn't imagine what sort of creature could tear into metal—except, perhaps, for a dragon. But a dragon couldn't have gotten aboard the ship—or even fit into these hallways.

Folken steadied himself, rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, and threw open the door.

Warm air wafted out of the room, fluttering his hair. The lamps had gone out, but the ceiling had a skylight, and Folken's eyes took but a moment to adjust to the softer light.

His gaze fell first on the table in the center of the room. The thick leather straps hung in tatters over the metal edges. He smelled warm blood on the warm air.

Folken's eyes moved down to the floor and fell upon Garufo. At least, it had been Garufo, not very long ago. Something had torn out his throat, and blood still oozed from the wound. Kuaru, Paruchi, and Foruma, sprawled in other positions on the floor, had all met similar fates. They had been killed…and then, judging from the smears of blood on the floor, had been dragged and deposited against the wall. By what?

By the two white lions that were pacing the room, eyeing him with eyes of brilliant violet and gray. As they walked…around what?

Around Dilandau.

Dilandau lay huddled on the floor, his back to Folken, a white lioness curled protectively around him. From what Folken could see, he was not harmed—he was sleeping. He had blood on him, but it was not his own. The lioness licked at a smear of blood on his arm, cleaning it away. Dilandau's head rested on one great paw, his silvery hair mingling with her white fur.

The lioness ceased her careful ministrations, and lifted her vivid blue eyes to Folken's, and he realized that he was not afraid.

Folken released his grip on his sword and let his arm fall to his side. The two lions ceased to walk their protective circle and stood to flank the lioness and Dilandau, still watching Folken.

The lioness stared at Folken, unblinking. Then, with what seemed like a nod of recognition, she uncurled herself and stood. She nudged Dilandau into a more comfortable position on his back, nuzzling his cheek with motherly care. A soft growl to the two lions, and they padded toward Folken, slipping around him and loping away down the hallway. When Folken whirled around, they were gone, and when he looked back again, the lioness, too, had vanished.

The unusual warmth began to drift away from the room, and on the floor, Dilandau stirred. Folken knelt at his side, stepping around the puddles of blood on the floor. What had the Sorcerers done? Was he all right?

Dilandau lifted a hand, trailing his fingers along Folken's face. "Strategos," he said softly, and he sounded well, if tired. He sounded sane. He smiled, and he had blood on his dry and blistered lips. "I've had the most wonderful dream."

"What did you dream about?" Folken asked. Did Dilandau know what had just happened?

"I dreamed about a woman. She had golden hair and blue eyes, and she was very kind. We were in a field of flowers." Dilandau's arm dropped back to his side. "I think she was my mother."


	22. Chapter 22: Lost Heritage

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 22 – Lost Heritage**

"Your mother?" Folken asked. "Why would you think that?"

"I'm not certain," Dilandau replied dreamily. "I don't know anything about my mother. I'm not sure if I even have one." He laughed. "Wouldn't that be strange?"

"Of course you have a mother," Folken told him. Dilandau shrugged as best he could lying down.

"Strategos…do you think you could find out who my parents are?" he asked. "I've never cared before…but now I think that I'd like to know."

"I have a great deal to do," Folken told him honestly. Dilandau's face fell. "But I'll do my best," he finished.

Dilandau blinked, and the dreamy expression left his face. "Where am I?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing at his wrists where the table's leather straps had abraded his skin.

"Aboard the Sorcerers' airship," Folken replied cautiously. How much did Dilandau remember of everything that had just happened? It was obvious that his sight had not returned; he turned his face toward Folken, but his eyes didn't focus on anything.

"Still? I remember getting here, but what are you doing here?" And where are _they?_ They'd never let you on their ship if you were the Emperor himself." Dilandau wrinkled his nose. "I smell blood."

"The Sorcerers are dead," Folken told him. Dilandau brightened all too quickly.

"All of them?"

"Just the four who came for you."

"Pity," Dilandau scowled. "Everlasting Frost get them?"

Folken paused, considering whether or not to inform Dilandau of the strange occurrences around the for Sorcerers' deaths. He had no idea if the three mysterious lions were part of the onset of the Everlasting Frost. He knew he had seen the lioness before; she had saved Dilandau from the deadly ice storm that had driven them from the Mystic Valley. Were the beasts a force for the Everlasting Frost, or against it? Or merely a coincidence? Were the lions even sentient? Folken had sensed a definite intelligence about them, but he did not know what _kind_ of intelligence.

"Cat got your tongue, Strategos?" Dilandau chuckled, when the minutes passed and Folken still had not supplied an answer.

Oh, the irony of that question.

"Never mind," Dilandau told him. "As long as the bastards are dead, I don't care how it happened."

Ah, that was the old Dilandau that he knew. "Do you think you can walk?" Folken asked, standing. Dilandau stretched with a yawn.

"Of course I can walk. I'm not an invalid. I just can't see." He paused. "But I suppose that's enough to make me useless to the army, isn't it?"

Folken took Dilandau's hand and pulled him to his feet without comment. Dilandau, as the Sorcerers' pet project, had always enjoyed a certain immunity that let him get away with more or less whatever he wanted. He would be allowed a period of grace to recover from his injuries, but if his eyesight didn't return, then that immunity would disappear. Dilandau had never been so very vulnerable.

"Fine," Dilandau huffed, "don't tell me what happened to the Sorcerers. I'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure, you know I always do—"

"They're dead," Folken told him. "Leave it at that. They're dead."

"Which four was it?"

"Garufo, Paruchi, Foruma, and Kuaru."

"I should have guessed. "Well, it's a start." Dilandau groped in the air, and Folken guided Dilandau's hand to his arm. Despite the breakdown, Dilandau's footsteps seemed steady enough, and he leaned on Folken for direction, not support. Again Folken wondered about the properties of the mysterious lions—but then, the mountain dragon's bite on his shoulder was no more healed.

Folken tried to lead Dilandau around the blood on the floor, but the lions had made quite a mess in slaying the Sorcerers, and they both left bloody footprints as they started down the hallway.

By the fates, what was he going to do with the four Sorcerers? As if he didn't have enough to try to manage already! Folken sighed inwardly as he walked with Dilandau. The Vione's doctors were looking after those who had fallen ill from the day that the Vione iced over, but that number was growing, with more personnel taking sick than getting better. Gatti was organizing the Gray Soldiers in an internal search for spies and sabotage, and were becoming thoroughly frustrated with their failure to turn up anything. Chesta had volunteered to act as an educator and guide to Anna and Jay, and while the two women seemed to be adjusting well to their new life in Zaibach, Folken found it impossible to keep tabs on the increasingly irritable Shays. Even with all that aside, that still left a myriad of little political decisions that nobody else wanted to take care of, represented by the stack of papers on his desk. Naria and Eriya were an immense help in that area—but the Dragon Slayers had kidnapped his brother, the king of Fanelia, and Folken still had not determined whether that issue was taken care of or not. There were so many things to do!

Dilandau tripped, and Folken caught him as he went stumbling. Something metallic went skittering across the floor.

"Are you all right?" Folken asked, steadying Dilandau.

"Yeah. I stepped on something." Dilandau let go of Folken's arm and felt along the floor, straightening before Folken could help him. He turned the object around in his hands, trying to read it with his fingers, and Folken caught a glimpse of purple and silver. "Meh, it's just a comb. I wonder what the Sorcerers were doing with trash like this on their ship." He tossed it away over his shoulder.

Folken watched the comb's trajectory as it sailed into the shadows, and he found it discomforting that he did not hear it land.

"Well? Are we going?" Dilandau asked impatiently, and Folken had to smile. Dilandau sounded more like himself than he had in a long time.

"Wait here." Folken positioned Dilandau against the wall with a hand on its cold surface to keep him oriented, and pulled the airship's door open. Wind whistled past him as the fading sunlight flooded the hallway.

The Dragon Slayers were getting better at acting on their own initiative. Two Alseides units knelt on the floor of the Vione's hangar, the docking cables twined firmly in their Crima Claws. Seeing the gap between airship and fortress, they had pulled the ship closer, securing it by powering down their guymelefs to hold it in place. It wasn't a particularly stable formation, but good enough in an emergency.

Folken took Dilandau from the wall and led him through the door. The young soldier navigated the seam between ship and fortress easily. He was learning, too, getting better at moving about without his eyes.

Gatti and Guimel bowed, clearly relieved to have their commander back and unharmed. "Lord Dilandau, it's a relief to see you!" they cried.

Dilandau let go of Folken's arm, making his way carefully forward with his arms outstretched until he found Gatti and Guimel. Planting his bare feet, he backhanded them both.

Folken stood aside passively as the two Dragon Slayers dropped to their knees. He had become accustomed to Dilandau's particular brand of discipline long ago. How interesting, though, that each boy now sported a cheek reddened like sunburn.

"What was that for?" Folken asked calmly, retrieving his cloak from the floor and throwing it around his shoulders.

Dilandau's fists clenched, and he stared blankly at the air, perhaps considering his answer. Gatti and Guimel knelt on the floor, awaiting his orders.

Dilandau's face twisted, and he turned away from Folken. "Because they're not Dalet and Migel," he answered finally, bowing his head.

* * *

Shays laced his fingers together, resting his face in his hands wearily. "What are we doing here, Mother?" he asked, glancing up. Anna looked up at him from the book that Chesta had brought for her to amuse herself. He didn't really want an answer, and was thankful when she remained silent. "I don't understand how Folken can stand to live here," he muttered. "It's so…mundane!" It hadn't been a problem when Folken had appeared at their door and asked them to conceal themselves from these so-called Sorcerers several days ago. He didn't even want to leave anymore. The sight of all these Drifters wandering around the corridors was downright depressing. At least that Chesta's visits had been infrequent of late.

Shays coughed and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Don't you think it's a little cold in here, Mother?" he asked.

"Not at all." Anna set aside her book and crossed the room to take Shays's face in her cool hands. "Are you feeling all right, dear?"

"I'm fine," Shays muttered, pulling away and standing. He examined a small keypad set into the wall. "I've forgotten how to work this damn thing," he added to himself. Anna reached over his shoulder and punched a few buttons, and the temperature in the room rose.

She was his mother, and it wasn't Shays's place to glare at her, but he _did_ think that she was adjusting to this Drifter life inappropriately well.

"It sounds like Folken is taking good care of your brother," Anna commented cheerfully, resuming her chair. Shays scowled and pressed his hands over his ears.

"Don't call him that!"

"He said that he's taking the opportunity to teach Arias to read." Anna pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I wonder if he would mind if I stepped in. I'm sure his girls have more important things to do, and I'd like to do _something_ for poor Arias after all these years."

"If I didn't know better," Shays growled, "I'd think that you liked things better here."

"I do," Anna agreed. Seeing the appalled look on Shays's face, she continued. "Of course I miss your father, and our home back in New Atlantis was lovely." Suddenly Anna looked very tired, and it occurred to Shays for the first time that his mother was getting old. "This is the only place that I can have all my babies around me, together."

Shays flopped down on his bed with a sigh, kicking off his shoes. "What are you talking about, Mother? Jay and I have always been with you."

Anna set her book down again with a patient sigh. The bed creaked as she sat next to Shays, tucking her feet beneath her and stroking his hair with a gentle hand. "You know very well what I mean. The midwife took Arias away as soon as she realized he was a Drifter. Your father and I thought that we would have our hands so full with the two of you that perhaps he was better off that way." She smiled sadly. "But we could never sell him away. He was never your brother, but he has always been our son.

"And Folken—of course, I'm not really his mother, but he seems like part of the family, doesn't he?" Anna's violet eyes misted with tears as she spoke, her smile growing more and more forced. "Just once, I want to hold all four of my babies together. Do you think that's selfish of me, Shays?" she asked, looking down at him.

Now, how in the world could he reply to that? "I think," Shays said slowly, "that you wouldn't be able to get your arms around us. We're all grown now."

Anna's hand stopped moving through his hair. Shays looked up. "Mother, that's now how I meant it—" he began hastily, but she was up and out of the room before he could move. "Mother!" He jumped up and leaned out the door. "Mother! Folken hasn't told us whether or not we can come out yet! Mother!" But she did not return, and Shays sighed with resignation.

And then, another thought. "Where the hell is Jay?"

Arias jerked and yelped as the door to his hospital room flew open. He dropped the alphabet chart he had been working hard to memorize—his leg was starting to ache again, anyway, and that made studying difficult. As he sat up with a start, he found Anna's arms wrapped around him, her cheek against his shoulder.

"M-Mistress?" Arias stammered, nervous and bewildered. "I-I mean, Lady Anna, or—"

"Don't call me Lady Anna," she told him, pulling back.

"Mistress—" Arias tried to correct himself.

"It's not Mistress." Anna's eyes were filled with tears. "It's Mother. _Mother_."

Arias stared at her. "Mother," he repeated. "I-I always…somehow…"

And Anna wept, and she held her son, and Arias wept, and he held his mother.

* * *

Three days later, the decisions that had been reached hardly helped to make Folken's job any easier. Naria and Eriya had taken care of the details of the Sorcerers' deaths for him. That was really the only thing that had wrapped up nicely.

Emperor Dornkirk seemed to think that the results of his ambitions could combat the strange occurrences that had been happening. The Everlasting Frost, he had seen, was a matter of folktales being blown out of proportion. As for the mysterious ice, the wraiths—they could be combated once the Zone of Absolute Fortune was in place. So he said he had seen through his Destiny Prognostication Engine.

That ignorant declaration had begun to wear away at Folken's respect for his Emperor. Folken knew better. If such a thing like the Zone of Absolute Fortune could stop the Everlasting Frost, surely the people of New Atlantis would have prepared it for the future. Then again, so many had thought that the Everlasting Frost was just a tale, too, and yet here it was; maybe the Zone of Absolute Fortune could give them a chance.

It was here that Folken's loyalties began to divide. The Emperor insisted that he take up the search for the Escaflowne again. Zaibach could no longer wait idly for Dilandau to recover. (At least he still had a job to do, yet, so that Adelphos couldn't berate him for being useless.) Folken dearly wanted to see his country's ambitions succeed, yet he also knew that his Emperor did not understand the situation. If Folken gave all the Vione's attention to the dragon and the unknown element, it would surely follow that, shortly, there would no longer be a Vione or a Zaibach, or maybe even a Gaea.

At the moment, matters on the Vione needed all the attention that Folken could pour into them—and that Shays could pour into them, too, if only he could be pried out of his own self-pity. Two more Dragon Slayers had died, this time together. From what Folken could tell, they had asphyxiated when their lips and noses had become fixed shut by a layer of ice, the same that fixes fingers to metal railings on snowy winter days. It had already melted when the two were found, but he could deduce as much from the scratches on their faces and the blood beneath their fingernails as they tried to claw a passage for air to reach their starved lungs. Again, a final message was written in their blood on the floor—"What he loves."

Dilandau had taken their deaths much better than the first two. He found comfort, he told Folken, in the dream about his mother, though he had not dreamt it again. He asked Folken to step up his efforts to find his family, as he was anxious to put a name to the face from his dreams.

That, Folken was more than happy to do, despite his overwhelming workload. It was a nice change from straightening out death and disaster, and easy to go about, since the Sorcerers' ship and the careful files it contained were still tethered to the Vione. Perhaps Dilandau did have a mother and father somewhere in Zaibach, who he could return to for the duration of his recovery.

It was an easy task to begin, but a difficult one to complete. Dilandau had been one of the children the Sorcerers had experimented on. (While Folken had always known that, he had never known the specifics of the alterations.) It explained a lot of things. They had stripped him of his empathy, for example, and enhanced his hand-eye coordination. They had done much more than that, but Folken skipped over it for now. He needed earlier.

Unfortunately, 'earlier' was where Folken kept running into a dead end. No matter how carefully he examined them, Folken couldn't find Dilandau's origins in the Sorcerers' files. Instead, the paths of paperwork kept leading back to a little girl named Celena Schezar. She had been a citizen of Asturia, born to a Leon and Encia, and Folken couldn't figure out what in the world she had to do with Dilandau. They had the same birthday, perhaps they were twins—the Sorcerers liked to do that, kidnap identical twins, and experiment on one and compare the new difference between them. But if they were related, they couldn't be identical twins, so that theory didn't hold up.

It had Folken stumped. He told an impatient Dilandau that the Sorcerers' records they had with them were incomplete, and Dilandau would just have to wait until he could get the rest. In the meantime, he pinned the files' shadowgraph of little Celena to the board on the wall over his desk, hoping that it might trigger a flicker of recognition.

Hopefully, Dilandau would soon be distracted enough to give Folken the time to find his lost heritage. With all the strange things that had been happening to the able-bodied soldiers, everyone generally agreed that it was not safe for Dilandau to remain aboard the Vione. (Whether or not _he_ was the source of the danger had not yet to be ruled out. Some of the less dedicated Gray Soldiers had begun to desert.)

Viole had come up with a solution to keep Dilandau safe, and help keep the politics straightened out. Folken had agreed, and authorized Viole to send a letter to Princess Millerna on behalf of Zaibach. Asturia had accepted most enthusiastically.

As a sign of the continuing treaty between Zaibach and Asturia, the Zaibach soldier Dilandau Albatou would be a guest of the Asturian royal family until he recovered from his injuries.

He was being a good sport about the whole thing, Folken considered, as he sat across from the young soldier in the airship, clouds and blue sky passing behind Dilandau's head. He usually threw a tantrum whenever Folken forced him to 'engage the peasants', as he so blithely put it. (Royalty or not, anyone who did not belong on the Vione was usually grouped into 'the peasants'.) Folken wished that he'd had the time to put Dilandau's diadem back together; it was a superb way of keeping track of him. Shays had done a thorough job of dismantling it—and damaging it. Folken would have to re-wire the whole thing, and his jeweler's tools had rusted over when the Vione was thawed. So much for that.

Dilandau fingered the metal loop at the pommel of his sword, one booted foot crossed with his knee. He'd had to leave his armor behind—for him to go walking about in the palace in his armor would imply that he didn't trust Asturian hospitality. Every gentleman should carry a sword, though.

As Dilandau had pointed out when they left, "It's quite handy for telling if I'm going to walk into things." That summoned up a rather nightmarish vision of Dilandau stumbling about the palace, stabbing and cutting persons in his attempts to find his way around.

"I'll behave myself, Strategos." Dilandau's eyes were hidden again by the blindfold, but his lips curved in a smile.

"Oh? Were you considering something to the contrary?"

"Not seriously. But you seemed like you wanted to hear it." Dilandau's hand left his sword and went to his tunic, tracing the gold embroidery around the collar and the knots of the frogs that fastened it. He had joked, just before they left, that Folken should spin him around and check that his pants were the same color as his tunic, and that he had not put them on backwards, or slept on his hair funny and woken up with a cowlick that he had not noticed. Folken hadn't seen Dilandau in such a good mood since the day he had burned down Fanelia. _He's probably just glad to be doing something again,_ Folken thought. _He'd better not let it get out of hand; the royal family will never have patience with him if he can't sit still._ Perhaps he should poke Dilandau with a stick every time he fidgeted; it worked when training dogs—_Poke him with a_ stick? Folken groaned and rubbed his eyes wearily. _Oh, gods, he's rubbing off on me._ After he dropped Dilandau off, he needed to get some rest and clear his head. _Perhaps a nice nap,_ Folken thought, _and a cup of tea before I get back to work._

He glanced up at Dilandau, who had sensed Folken's scattering thoughts and was giggling behind his hands at the Strategos.

_Or perhaps a glass of wine would do me better._

He looked at Dilandau again. He had his arms stretched out in front of him, tugging on the cuffs of his tunic, trying to roll up the sleeves and failing miserably.

_Or maybe the whole damn bottle._

"Leave them down," he told Dilandau. "You'll wrinkle them."

"But I'm hot!" Dilandau complained, smoothing his sleeves down again and sitting back. "We're descending, aren't we?"

"Yes. We'll be on the ground in just a moment. Are you ready?"

"Of course I am," Dilandau answered with a haughty grin. Despite his demeanor, he seemed a bit nervous to Folken. Courage on the battlefield came easily to Dilandau, but skill in court was an entirely different sort of challenge.

The airship shook as it set down, then fell silent and still. The door opened, and Folken stood, waiting for Dilandau to find his arm. Dilandau slung a bag over his good shoulder, and together they descended the ramp.

Folken had requested that Dilandau's arrival be kept small and quiet, and from the looks of things, they had accepted. Princess Millerna stood waiting with a knight—the very Sir Allen Schezar whom Folken had dealt with before—and a handful of the Asturian royal guard. No one else. Good.

"How many people are there, Strategos?" Dilandau whispered. Folken counted for him.

"Eight. And a carriage."

When they stopped, the princess curtseyed genteelly.

"Commander Albatou, on behalf of my father the king, I welcome you to Asturia. We do hope that you'll find your stay enjoyable, and we wish you a speedy recovery."

Dilandau nodded. "I'm certain I will." To Folken, he whispered again—"Isn't it a little cool for this time of year? It was warmer in Fanelia, I know that."

"We're by the sea," Folken reminded him. "Asturia's climate is different."

Dilandau's head whipped to the side, and at the same instant Sir Allen's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "I thought I heard something, Strategos," and at the same time, "I see something!"

Folken, too, thought he had caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes watching them from behind a barrel tilted against a cargo box.

"There have been sightings of wolves at the edges of the city," Millerna mused, chewing a fingernail nervously. "Oh, but I assure you, my lords, they're just silly rumors!" she added quickly, straightening.

"Of course," Sir Allen agreed, relaxing. Folken glanced at Dilandau.

Very likely, there were wolves in Palas, whether anyone had seen them or not. The stories of the Everlasting Frost spoke of wolves prowling city streets in midday.

"Be careful," Folken told Dilandau softly.

"I will," he promised. He let go of Folken's arm, approaching the Asturians with his hand outstretched. Folken bowed, backing up the ramp of the airship as Princess Millerna took Dilandau's hand and helped him find his way up into the carriage.

Dilandau found the corner of the carriage by feel, setting his bag on the floor and hoping that it wasn't landing on top of anyone's feet. Well, the people who could see should watch out for their own damn toes.

He hated having to depend so much on others! He had to get better, somehow. If Folken wanted to take out his eyes and replace them with new ones, he would gladly submit himself to the Strategos's scalpel. He wasn't certain that Folken would be able to do something that drastic, though.

At least he had the relief of knowing that he would not have to surrender himself to the Sorcerers again. Folken had been vague about the details of the deaths of the four Dilandau hated most; whatever, at least they were dead. There were more, of course, but those four had been the most powerful. Not counting Folken. With them gone, Dilandau was certain that he could find ways to deal with the others, who did not know his tricks as well.

"I do hope you'll enjoy your stay in Asturia," the princess said, as the carriage began to move. Dilandau rolled his eyes. He could roll his eyes all he wanted beneath the blindfold; she couldn't see it. Blah. He hated small talk.

"I'm certain I will." _Shut up shut up shut up._ As much as he had enjoyed any of his other trips to Palas. Meaning that in two or three days, his clothes and hair would smell like seaweed and fish no matter how well he washed them. The Asturians never seemed to notice it. On his previous visits to Palas, he had amused himself by…well, running and hiding, to put it frankly. Whenever Adelphos or Folken had caught up with him, his next activity had never been pleasant. It had always involved forcing a smile and waving at people.

What did royalty do to pass the time? He really didn't know how he was going to keep himself busy. He couldn't engage in any of his usual pursuits without his eyes and two working arms. Well, there was drinking, but that was hardly an option in these circumstances.

His hand went to his pocket, to the little book of fairy stories that Folken had given him. Lot of good it would do him now. He couldn't read it. He didn't know why he had brought it along. Why did Folken want him to read the thing, anyway? Was he being encouraged to regain his long-lost childhood, or something? He'd never had a proper childhood, really, with fairy stories, and…messes in the mud, or whatever it was that constituted a proper childhood. He wouldn't know. He was just one of the Zaibach army's many orphans.

That thought gave him pause. Am _I an orphan?_ he wondered. _I never thought of it that way. It's not like I grew up in an orphanage, but I don't have any family, either._ Well, it was biologically impossible for him _not_ to have parents out there somewhere, and Folken was going to find their names.

He slipped the book out of his pocket, running his fingers along the indented foil of the title, trying to remember what it said. _What's this thing called, again? Caerdydd's Stones and Other…Tales For Children. Yeah, that's it._

"Ah, what's this?" he heard the princess exclaim brightly, and she plucked the book from his hands. "I didn't think you soldiers were the reading type. Let's see, Ca—Caee—" She stumbled over the unfamiliar name in the title.

"Princess, I'm not certain that that's very polite," Sir Allen told her under his breath as Dilandau's face reddened.

_If you finish that title, woman, there goes my reputation._ He searched the air for the book and snatched it away, shoving it back in his pocket. Deep. Though he briefly considered throwing it out the window.

"My apologies, Command-EEER!" The princess's carefully chosen words turned into a shriek as the carriage gave a great lurch, throwing both the princess and the knight on top of Dilandau. It tipped onto its side with the crash of splintering wood, and Dilandau was almost thankful for the two strangers atop him. They kept off the raining shards of glass. Voices shouted.

"Around the corner to the right, Van!" a woman called out. "There!" This accompanied by the grunting and thrashing of a dying horse, and then, inexplicably, the sound of scratching. Two sets of nails scratching, Dilandau thought, trying to disentangle himself from the terrified princess's skirts and hair.

A snarl as running feet joined in with the other sounds, and faintly, the sound of a sword being drawn. Feeling about him, Dilandau threw open the broken door and climbed up onto the side—now the top—of the carriage.

"To your right!" the female voice screamed.

Acting on impulse, Dilandau drew his sword and drove it down and to the right. He felt the blade sink into flesh, then jar as he hit bone.

He froze, crouched there, palm braced against the pommel of his sword, and listened. The carriage rocked as the princess and the knight climbed out.

"It's true, then," Sir Allen spoke. Another voice joined them, one which Dilandau was not familiar with.

"Since Fanelia's forests are burned up, they're trying to find somewhere else to survive, I guess. They're probably getting desperate. That's all I can figure.

Keeping one hand on his sword, Dilandau climbed down from the carriage. He had a good idea of what he had killed. He followed the blade down with his free hand. Yes, there were teeth—sharp incisors—and blood-matted fur. And a tongue. The princess had mentioned sightings of wolves at Palas's fringes, which was perfectly normal for a city next to such a dense forest.

He wondered what this one was doing so far inside the city, and how he, blind, had managed to ram his sword neatly down its throat.

* * *

Folken relaxed as the small airship returned to the Vione. He thought that, finally, things would quiet down a bit.

As the doors opened, he berated himself as he saw Anna flying toward him, her skirt hiked up to her knees. You couldn't relax your guard against the Everlasting Frost.

"What's wrong, Mother?" he asked with alarm. She smoothed her skirt and tried to compose herself, but just ended up bursting into tears—not for the first time today, from the look of her red eyes.

Folken drew her into a careful hug. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Is someone hurt?"

"No!" Anna sobbed. "It's Jay. Shays is still trying to look—my little girl—Jay is gone!"


	23. Chapter 23: Guide Me

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 23 – Guide Me**

Hitomi watched the Zaibach soldier plant a foot on the dead wolf's muzzle and pull his sword free. On the other side of the carriage, Van was doing the same. It surprised her that the Zaibach soldier had followed her directions. She hadn't meant to give them, really, but it had become such a habit now, helping Van to fight Zaibach's invisible giants. Van had come running with her, asking no questions, when she had had another premonition of danger. They had expected an attack on Allen and Millerna to come from the Zaibach soldier, though, not from somewhere else.

Allen lifted Millerna down from the broken carriage, and Hitomi tiptoed closer to Van, who was wiping his sword clean on the wolf's fur. It was definitely dead; Hitomi relaxed as the bad feeling dissolved.

"We're all right now," she told Van, who nodded, sheathing his sword. He prodded the dead wolf with the toe of his boot.

"Looks like an ordinary wolf to me," he told her. "They probably got hungry and desperate. Maybe even rabid."

Hitomi crouched down to look. "It's not foaming at the mouth or anything," she observed. It was hard to tell since the animal was dead, though. "It's just wet. Maybe it fell in one of the canals or something and got scared."

Van frowned. "It wasn't wet when I killed it," he told her. Hitomi pointed.

"Well, look at it! It's dripping wet!" A puddle had begun to form under it, even.

Hitomi frowned, and stood and took a step back to get a better view. "Does it look like it's getting smaller to you?" she asked.

"It looks like it's falling apart."

"It looks like it's melting," Millerna interjected. They watched as one of the wolf's legs fell off with a wet plop, and a stream of clear water trickled away between the cobblestones.

Allen climbed back on top of the carriage to survey the area. "I don't see any more," he announced. They exchanged glances. Just because you couldn't see something didn't mean that it wasn't coming—but Hitomi did her own scan of the road, and came up with nothing. Van prodded the melting carcass, but Hitomi decided to leave it be for now, and rounded the carriage to the Zaibach soldier on the other side.

After pulling his sword free, he continued to stand there with the naked blade in his hand, his face turned down. He seemed like he desperately wanted to see what was going on. At last he lifted the sword, running his fingers along the wet blade and bringing them to his nose. He frowned—the wolf's blood had turned to water dripping off the sword, but he had no way of knowing that. He seemed puzzled that he did not smell blood, and stood there rubbing his fingers together, trying to sort out the dilemma.

Millerna and Allen had only told her a few things about the Zaibach soldier; they had been hoping to keep her away from him. His name was Dilandau, and he was the commander of Zaibach's best guymelef squadron. He had disappeared for a time, and when Zaibach finally got him back, he was injured and suffering from an unknown (but not catching) disease that had struck him blind.

Hitomi had been expecting someone rather larger and more fearsome. Not that Dilandau looked short or weak, but he had a swimmer's wiry build, and there was something decidedly effeminate about his face. The blindfold did make it hard to read his features. Millerna hadn't mentioned anything about his coloring, but from the white hair and pale skin, Hitomi could only assume that he was albino.

There was something strange about him. Hitomi couldn't put her finger on it. She couldn't tell if it was good or bad. But there was definitely something _strange_ about him, a tug on her sixth sense telling her to pay attention.

"The wolf's melted," Hitomi told him. He turned his face toward her.

"It _what?_" Oddly, his tone of voice wasn't entirely disbelieving—just cautious.

"They've melted," Hitomi repeated. "Like a snowball. Both of them. I don't know what's going on. But your sword's clean."

"Ah. That explains the smell." Dilandau gave his sword a few expert swings through the air to dry it and sheathed it. "What happened?"

"Two of them tried to attack the carriage," Hitomi told him, coming a few steps closer. "They went for the horses, then tried to get in. I think they were hungry. You got one, and Van got the other."

"Melting," Dilandau mused. "I don't like the sound of that." Hitomi stepped up to his side. He seemed tame enough, at least. "And who are _you?_" Dilandau demanded. Hitomi flinched. Okay, so he wasn't _tame_, but he wasn't quite _wild_ either. Just…intense.

"My name is Kanzaki Hitomi," she told him cautiously. "I'm a friend of Allen's."

"Hitomi."

Hitomi feared that he would ask where she had come from, what place her strange name had originated, but he merely shrugged. You probably met people from all over the place, being a soldier.

"Have we met before?" Dilandau asked. Hitomi shook her head before remembering that Dilandau couldn't see it.

"No, I don't think we have."

"Your voice sounds familiar."

Hitomi blinked helplessly. She was certain she would have remembered someone as unique as Dilandau if they had met.

"I must be imagining it," Dilandau continued, before Hitomi could think of a response. "Where are the others?"

Relieved, Hitomi mentally thanked him for changing the subject. "They're on the other side."

Dilandau nodded, and started to make his way around to Millerna, Van, and Allen, feeling along the side/top of the wreckage/carriage.

"Here, let me help you." Hitomi reached out and rested her hand on Dilandau's forearm to guide him. She thought he might shake her off; he seemed like one of those people who liked to get things done himself. She didn't expect him to stiffen and freeze like that! "Are you all right?" Hitomi asked, taking her hand away quickly. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, I know you're injured—"

"We _have_ met before." Though he could not see her, he lifted a hand and pointed straight at her. "I know that hand. You're the woman from the forest."

Hitomi frowned. "What forest?" Rather, which forest? Gaea was covered in them.

And then she remembered the pillar of white light in Castelo, and the brief journey into the strange forest. She had led a blind man to the edge…"Where _you_ that man with the bandages?" Hitomi asked, bewildered. If so, then it was no wonder she hadn't recognized him—she hadn't actually seen his face, and he wouldn't give his name.

Dilandau pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't mention this to anyone. We'll straighten it out later."

Hitomi's first thought was to march straight to Van and Allen and tell them everything, but her tarot cards chose that moment to fall out of her pocket. They spattered on the cobblestones, all face-down except for one—The Sun.

Hitomi gathered the cards up and shoved them deep into her pocket. "Okay. I'll keep quiet for now. But I'm not promising that I won't tell them if something important comes up."

"Fair enough." Dilandau held out his arm to Hitomi, and she realized that he meant her to guide him again. Hitomi rested one hand on his forearm, and the other on his elbow, and she led Dilandau around to the rest of their party. They were both clean and dry and wearing proper clothes now, but it still _felt_ the same as when she'd led him through the forest. She knew what would trip him and led him around it. He sensed what direction they would go almost before she turned him. _This is definitely the same guy._ She itched to ask him questions. Where was the forest? How had he gotten there? How had he gotten from there to Palas? But her questions had to wait.

"Commander Albatou, are you unhurt?" Allen asked when the pair came around the overturned carriage. Dilandau nodded once. Millerna began shaping a diplomatic apology, but Dilandau cut her off with a grimace that he quickly covered.

"Relax, Princess. I'm not holding Asturia responsible. This has simply been an unfortunate accident involving a couple of wild animals." He nodded to Hitomi. "In fact, it seems that we all owe our safety to your friend, Lady Kanzaki. I heard her warning."

"Don't forget Van," Hitomi added, releasing Dilandau's arm. He'd been the one who'd actually killed the other wolf. She had just directed.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," Dilandau said, drawing himself up. Hitomi and Allen both shot Van warning glances, but to Hitomi's relief, he behaved himself. He stepped forward and, pulling off one of his brown gloves, offered Dilandau his hand. His face was dark and brooding, but that was all right; Dilandau couldn't see it.

"Van Lacour de Fanel, king of Fanelia." Hitomi saddened at the unspoken _or what's left of it_ in Van's eyes.

She thought she saw the corners of Dilandau's mouth twitch in a knowing smile. "My sincere regrets, Fanelia King." His pale fingers closed around Van's hand, and he bowed his head. "Two kings! I had no idea that I would be keeping such esteemed company."

The look on Van's face said that Van wasn't going to fall for the flattery. The look on Dilandau's face as he released Van's head said that he hadn't expected Van to, either. _Van isn't a diplomat, and neither is Dilandau,_ Hitomi thought. They were both mincing pretty words so that, later on, they could claim that they had played by the book. Neither gave any weight to what was actually being said.

Under different circumstances, Hitomi thought they could get along quite well—two fighting men trying to grit their teeth and play at court. However, Fanelia had been burned, and if Dilandau led Zaibach's elite soldiers, he had probably been there. He might even have led the attack. Hitomi could almost see those thoughts in Van's mind rapidly building up a wall between him and Dilandau.

As for Dilandau, she didn't know him well enough to read him, and the blindfold didn't help. All Hitomi could tell was that he wasn't impressed by Van's kingly status.

They parted hands, and Hitomi saw the obnoxious feather of one of the Asturian Royal Guards' hats bobbing along the street. "Princess!" he shouted, slowing to a halt. They all looked the same. Wherever had the king found so many men that looked exactly the same? "My lords, are you all right?"

Millerna took the guardsman aside to explain what had happened, and he departed promising that a new carriage would soon arrive. Van started pacing an impatient circle, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his eyes darting up and down the streets. Allen remained relaxed but alert.

Hitomi almost wanted to throw a rock at Van. Almost. If he was so impatient, he could just walk back to the palace! They'd run here themselves, after all! Even though they had run from the bazaar, which was closer. He was so edgy that he was making _her_ edgy.

Dilandau simply stood waiting, his arms folded. Hitomi would have sworn that he was staring at her if he hadn't been blind. He was clearly thinking very hard about something.

Nobody spoke. Van glanced at the dead carriage driver sprawled on the ground and quickly turned away. The coach creaked as Allen climbed back up onto it to fish out Dilandau's bag.

"Will there be anything special that you require when we reach the palace, Commander?" Millerna asked. Dilandau shook his head, paused, worked one of his shoulders around in a circle, and shook his head again.

"No thank you, Princess."

Hitomi kicked at a pebble. She thought she could hear wheels up the street. _I wonder if six people can fit in a carriage?_ Maybe she and Van should have walked back after all.

Her eye caught something shiny in the cobblestones up the street. "I wonder what that is?" She started toward it, for lack of anything to do. Van seized her arm.

"Leave it alone, Hitomi. It's just a comb."

"Yeah, but it looks like a really nice comb. Come on, Van, I'm bored!" It's not like she was going to trip and impale herself on it or anything!

"Leave it alone," Van insisted, "or else—" His mouth snapped shut, and his cheeks flushed red.

"Or else what? Are you trying to intimidate me?" Hitomi planted her hands on her hips. Men!

"It's just a Fanelian superstition. I wasn't trying to threaten you." Van looked away, embarrassed.

His words must have caught Dilandau's attention, though, because the albino straightened. "What's the superstition?" he asked. Van shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"It's just something mothers tell their children to get them to leave things alone in the street. The Banshee leaves her comb on the ground to try to lure you close."

"And what's the Banshee?" Dilandau asked, leaning forward, the sarcasm gone from his voice.

"Oh, some sort of ghost or monster." Van scratched the back of his head. "It's not that I believe in any of the folktales. It's just habit. The Banshee appears as a young and beautiful woman. Or maybe it was an old woman. And she's always combing out her hair. If you see her face and hear her scream, you'll die somehow within three days."

"Die how?" Dilandau pressed. Van shrugged.

"Attacked in an alley? Fall out of a tree? Any old way, I think." Dilandau looked disappointed. "It's just a story," Van continued. "I'm sure it's just a comb that some rich woman dropped." He cast a glance up the street. "But still, with the strange things that have been happening lately, I don't think we should risk it."

"I agree," Dilandau said, and he sounded sincere. Hitomi studied him as the second carriage approached.

_I wonder what he's keeping from us?_

* * *

Folken gripped Anna's shoulders, trying to keep calm so that _she_ would stay calm. "What do you mean, Jay is gone?" he asked. He had learned, in searching for Dilandau, that there were many different ways in which a person could be gone. "Be specific, Mother. Did she run away? Did a pillar of light take her?" Anna shook her head, swallowing her sobs and looking very much like her oft-sulking daughter at the moment.

"I was talking with Shays in our room," she began slowly. "Jay was lying down. You know how she gets when she has one of her fits—she won't move for hours." Folken nodded. He had seen Jay stiffen and freeze, sometimes in the strangest of positions, and relax slowly over the course of several hours, like melting wax. He had been able to diagnose that since coming back, as well as several more of the girl's problems. The concepts of 'schizophrenia' and 'palsy' had just recently become known before he had gone to the Mystic Valley the first time. "I went to see Arias," she continued, "and the next thing I knew, Shays came in saying that he couldn't find her."

"You know she couldn't get far," Folken assured her gently, "and she certainly couldn't leave the Vione."

"Then why hasn't anyone been able to find her?" Anna twisted her skirts in her hands, her knuckles turning white. "We've run up and down the hallways, we've tried dowsing, and we can't find her!"

One thought kept lingering in Folken's mind, and he tried to banish it. _What if she got on the airship when Dilandau and I went down?_ But she couldn't have, without anyone noticing, it was too small. But what if she had? Folken sighed, and took a deep breath to steady himself. "She's aboard the Vione somewhere, Mother," he said firmly. "And with all the soldiers looking, I'm certain we'll turn her up soon. And if Shays can't search her out with destiny, I'm sure my girls can smell her out. They're very good at tracking. All right?" Anna nodded slowly, and Folken reached out to take Destiny's hand—just a light touch, not too much. And at his bidding, Destiny placed her hands on Anna's shoulders and sent soothing thoughts into her mind until shortly the distraught woman had calmed.

"Thank you, Folken," she said, drying her eyes on her sleeve. "Of course Jay must be here somewhere. It's just that—she's so helpless, and this is a strange place to her."

"The Vione is big, even to those of us that live here," Folken assured her. "She's probably trying to find her way back to your room right now. One of the soldiers may be leading her back already."

Anna nodded, and looked like she was trying very hard to convince herself to be reassured. "Of course," she repeated. "Of course."

"Why don't you lay down for a bit?" Folken suggested. She needed a bit of time to rest and compose herself, and that would keep her out of the way while Folken tried to sort out this new crisis. "Would you like Naria or Eriya to come with you?"

Anna shook her head, calm again but weary, her tangled curls brushing her shoulders. "No, thank you, dear. I've learned the hallways on this level. I'll be fine." She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek and embrace him. "I don't know what we'd do without you, Folken."

Folken was surprised to find tears springing to his eyes, and before he could reply Anna had released him, trying to smooth her skirts as she walked away.

As the hangar door opened to let her pass, Folken saw Shays hovering in the shadows of the hallway, in much the same way that Folken used to approach Dilandau silently. Shays fell into step a pace behind Folken as the door closed.

"I still need to talk to you, Folken."

"I know," Folken replied. "Mother told me. Jay has gotten lost."

One of the torches in the hallway had sputtered out. They passed into a spot of darkness, broken abruptly by a maid with a box of matches in her hand and a small, thin wrench in her apron pocket.

"No, not that. She'll turn up. It's about something before that."

Something before that? Folken hoped that Shays wasn't going to start complaining about Zaibach culture again. He'd had enough of that. "Well, what is it?"

"Something I need to show you," Shays answered, dropping his voice, casting a glance up and down the hallway. "In private."

"All right, then." The first room that they came to was storage for the equipment and chemicals used to clean the hangar floor. As far as closets on the Vione went, it was one of the larger ones, and the air always carried a hint of ammonia. Folken ushered Shays inside, conjuring a little ball of light to float in the air with them. This room didn't have a lamp; there were too many things that could catch fire. Usually, the maids would leave the door open to see.

"I can't tell Mother," Shays began, taking off his cloak and reluctantly hanging it from a mop handle. "She's already worried enough about us." He looked pale, paler than usual; he had come down with a cold, Folken thought, and was too stubborn to admit it or to accept any "Drifter medicine". Shays shivered, and his arms pricked into goose bumps as he threw off the top of his clothes.

His face ashen in the pale light, Shays spread his wings and folded them around his bare shoulders, and black feathers drifted through the air. "What am I going to do, Folken?"

Folken shook his head, catching one of the sooty feathers and watching it dissolve in his fingers. It left a greasy black smear on his hand. "I told you that you were tampering with fate too much."

"I was careful," Shays argued. "I've always been careful, you know that. You've been turning fate against the Everlasting Frost as much as I have, if not more, and you're fine!"

"You were torturing Dilandau far before I became involved," Folken pointed out softly. "You've been careless, and now you're paying for it. I warned you."

Shays sank to his knees, his wings leaving grimy, ashen streaks along his shoulders and back as he pulled them in. "What am I going to do, Folken?" he repeated, sinking to his knees, bowing his head until his hair brushed the floor. "What am I going to do?"

Folken closed his eyes.

_He walked through the forest, keeping his secrets. After a month of living with the Amaryllis family, he had still managed to conceal his past and his heritage, and was no closer to finding the Mystic Valley. He was frustrated, and depressed, and he could not confide why._

"_How did you get here, Folken? What's driving you?" Shays brushed a tree-growing wildflower with his fingertips, turning its face toward him so that he could smell it. "If you won't tell us where you've come from, at least tell us where you're going."_

_Folken shuffled along the light-dappled forest floor, his head hanging low. "I'm looking for my people. I already told you that."_

"_But, who are your people? That's what we need to know if we're going to help you. And we want to help you."_

_Folken shook his head. "I have to find them myself. I'm sorry, my friend; it's just one of those things I need to do alone."_

"_Let us help you," Shays pressed. "Who are your people, Folken?" Folken turned away, bowing his head lower. "Who are your people?"_

"_Shays—"_

"_Turn around."_

_And Folken turned, and with an explosion of white among the sepia tones he saw the wings arching from Shays's back, and he sucked in a sharp breath._

"_Here…you're all here!"_

_And his friend smiled. "Welcome home, Folken."_

Folken leaned forward to grip Shays's shoulder reassuringly, and Shays looked up, searching for a desperate hint of hope in Folken's face. "Whatever you do," Folken replied solemnly, "don't make Mother cry."

* * *

The rest of the short trip to the palace took place without event, and Dilandau thanked the surely-nonexistent gods for that. The king of Fanelia and the woman Hitomi came with them, but everyone sat in silence, leaving him free to play with his own thoughts.

His mind immediately went back to that day's walk in the Mystic Valley, the day he had first gone blind. It had not even been for a whole hour—only while he was with that woman, who was clearly Hitomi. He had not seen her (nor she him, what with the gauze and aloe salve that had covered his body) but he remembered her voice, with an accent that he could not place, and the touch of her hand upon his arm.

That touch had healed him. Her handprint had remained on his forearm until the rest of the sunburn faded to match it. He had thought she was an Artisan, but now, thinking back, she had been even more confused than he in the woods. She didn't talk like the Artisans.

A foreigner, definitely, but not a Draconian.

A woman with power, definitely. He could use her.

He needed to know more.

When they reached the palace, his small possessions were handed off to a footman, who assured Dilandau that they would be carefully arranged in milord's guest room. Sir Allen excused himself with the claim that he must report the strange attack of the wolves to the king and to discuss the issue with the rest of the Knights Ceili. Dilandau dismissed the knight from his mind. Sir Allen seemed a man of honour, and duty, and whatever it was that a proper Asturian knight should have, but not much else. Surely not much imagination for the supernatural.

Van, the Fanelian king, stalked away without a word. Off to do whatever sulky brats did to fill their spare time. Perhaps to polish his crown. He'd need wood polish, likely.

That left Dilandau with the two women. If Dilandau's past experience reflected the fairer gender accurately (and really, he was much fairer than a good number of them), he was not fond of these creatures at all. Especially not the ones who spent their days playing in court.

The trio passed inside, stepping from the cobblestones of the street to the smooth, polished marble floors of the palace. The air in here smelled like cut flowers and expensive spices—in addition to the normal fish and salt of the Asturian air. It was an improvement over the street, at least. The woman Hitomi was leading him again, and Dilandau kept a hand over hers on his arm, presumably to find surer steps, actually to keep her from slipping away and leaving him alone with the empty-headed princess.

By some stroke of luck (and Dilandau was starting to get wary of luck) that empty-headed princess saved him from the trouble of keeping tabs on the mysterious Hitomi. "Hitomi, why don't you show Commander Albatou around the palace?" she suggested. She paused, perhaps considering the correctness of the word 'show' and whether or not she might have offended her esteemed guest. When Dilandau showed no reaction, she continued. "I know you haven't had much to do lately."

"Sure…" Hitomi answered slowly.

"Excellent! We look forward to your presence at dinner, then, Commander Albatou." He heard the rustle of skirts as she curtsied to him, then set off down the hallway on her own business.

"I already know my way around," Dilandau told Hitomi quietly as they started walking. "I've been here before."

"Oh." Hitomi sounded relieved. "I guess you don't need the tour, then. If you'd like, I can help you to your room, or wherever you want to go, and let you rest—"

"No," Dilandau interrupted, keeping a firm grip on her hand on his arm. "I want to talk to you, Miss Hitomi." _Miss Unknown Element_, perhaps, he thought to himself. How long it had been since he concerned himself with the dragon and the unknown element!

If she was afraid of him, she wasn't showing it. Her hesitant "okay" did sound uncertain.

"Let's go to the library," Dilandau suggested. "It's quiet there. We can talk in peace." But, at the same time, it was a public place. That ought to put her at ease, reassure her that he wouldn't try to harm her. The last thing he needed was for her to run away from him. He was certain that she would prove to be an important link to his blindness, maybe to the Everlasting Frost.

"I don't intend to make you my enemy," Dilandau told her, to break the silence as they walked. "Strange things have been happening, and I think they may have something to do with you."

He felt Hitomi stiffen. "Why would you say that?" she asked cautiously.

"You healed me," Dilandau replied. Hitomi froze in place, and he had to give her a small tug to get her walking again. "My guess is that you didn't go to the Mystic Valley on purpose, either. You were spirited away just as I was. Yes?"

"Is that what that place was?" It wasn't a yes, but it was close enough. Her curiosity was starting to overcome her wariness. If she had healed him once, then maybe she could do it again.

They paused, and a door creaked, and the smell of old paper wafted over them.

"You were only there for a short time," Dilandau continued, "before you were taken away. I had to find my own way home." Hitomi guided him to a chair, and he felt for the arms and sat down. "You're not from there, or from here. Where are you from?"

Another pause, and the scrape of another chair being pulled over. "From a distant country with strange customs," she answered.

Ha, ha. Vague enough to describe any country on Gaea. Very funny. Dilandau let it go for now. There was something he wanted desperately to try to take care of first. His shoulder had been aching all day.

He started to unfasten the frogs at his throat. He heard Hitomi squeak nervously, but he only undid enough of them to shrug out of one sleeve, and her squeak turned to a sympathetic whimper as he unwound the bandages. The dragon bite on his shoulder was ugly as ever, he knew, and the bandages had frozen stuck to it in places.

"Will you heal me again?" he asked.

"I—I don't know if I can," Hitomi stammered. "I didn't even know that I did it, before," She took a deep breath. "But I'll do my best to try!"

"That's all I can ask," Dilandau replied. He prayed that it would work. He'd had the injury for far too long.

He heard another scrape as Hitomi moved her chair closer, and tentatively, she touched his shoulder. She gasped and jerked her hand away, then seemed to find resolve from somewhere, and pressed her hands against his skin.

It was like ducking next to the fireplace on a snowy day. Warmth trickled into his cold muscles slowly but steadily. The pain began to ebb. She moved her hands along his skin, and the warmth spread, until finally the cold had left, and the pain faded to nothing.

Hitomi took her hands away, amazement in her voice. "I don't know how I did that, but it looks gone," she said. Dilandau worked his shoulder around in a circle.

"Good as new," he told her, and meant it.

Hitomi sat in stunned silence as Dilandau shoved his arm back into his sleeve and fastened his tunic.

If she had been able to heal his shoulder…

"Would you be willing to try something else?" Dilandau asked.

"Of course!"

Dilandau reached up and untied the soft blindfold, laying it in his lap. He heard another small gasp as Hitomi caught her first glimpse of his brilliant red irises, but she said nothing. Neither did he; she had already guessed what he wanted, and laid her soft palms over his eyes.

The white light that obscured his vision didn't change. Disappointment filled him, until he noticed the woman.

She was standing right in front of him, where Hitomi should be, and leaning forward slightly. She was naked, but somehow it didn't bother him, because the white light swirled around her. Her blonde curls bounced around her face, and her bright blue eyes met his.

"It's about time, isn't it?" she asked brightly.

_What the hell?_ "Who are you?" Dilandau demanded. She looked strangely familiar. Had he seen her before? That dream he'd had, when the Sorcerers had taken him—"Mother?" he ventured, wide-eyed.

"No, silly." She shook her head and laughed. "We have a lot we need to talk about, I see. You haven't read—"

And abruptly she disappeared as Hitomi took her hands from Dilandau's eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, frightened. "You were talking to someone." And he was shaking. But he couldn't see, not any more than before.

"There was a woman," he began, trying to make sense of the vision. "She seemed like she knew me, but I don't know who she was. She wanted—" he had to stop and think. "She wanted me to read something."

"Read what?"

Dilandau had no idea. Then his hand went to his pocket, to the little book that Folken had given him. Could she possibly—?

Dilandau slipped the book out of his pocket and held it out to Hitomi. "I still can't see. Would you…" He felt so stupid, asking this! "Would you read this to me?"

"Of course." Why she accepted so quickly, he couldn't tell. Maybe she was as curious as he was. Amazing. A woman with a few brains inside her head.

A rustle as Hitomi made herself comfortable, the flip of a few pages, and she began to read. "Caerdydd's Stones and Other Tales for Children."

A/N: Plot device much, Sakura? This chapter was nowhere near as…subtle…as I would have liked it to be. Oh, well. Just for the record—Ringworm that I am, I did not rip Van's whole Banshee bit from The Ring/Ringu. I ripped it from Irish folklore. Keep that in mind, because it will be of some importance later…I think.


	24. Chapter 24: Caerdydd's Stones

A/N: Waaaugh! I finally managed to get enough time out of my freakishly busy schedule to finish editing this!! It's amazing how much your fun time gets cut down when they make you grow up. T.T Five writing-intensive classes, applying to graduate schools, querying agents, a number of organizations, teaching a class, and giving priviate lessons have all been sucking up my fun-time. Let's not forget the insomnia and the crap they try to pass off as food in the cafeteria. Work is really starting to pile up, as all my classes have big essays/projects instead of final exams, so I probably won't be updating again until Christmas break...as if the chapters couldn't come any slower. Anyway! This chapter is crap, as usual, and contains some breaking of the fourth wall and some of Plato's social commentary, if you know what to look for. Have fun. Send me some get-work-done-quick vibes.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 24 – Caerdydd's Stones**

Once upon a time, just after the creation of the Othermoon now called Gaea—a time when the Ispano, those who could make their wishes take form, were still recovering their spent powers—there lived a woman named Caerdydd.

Now, Caerdydd was a seer, an Ispano of minor power, and she could see into the future and the past, using a handful of stones that she had gathered from across Atlantis and spent many years enchanting. Nine stones Caerdydd possessed, one each colour of the rainbow, one black, one white, and one transparent like glass. Generous and fair, Caerdydd never settled in one place, but flew all about Atlantis, lending her powers to any who needed help. She was welcomed into every village, Ispano and human alike, and loved by all she met.

Caerdydd traveled in such a manner, until the day that she came to Cibwr.

Now, Cibwr was a large town, but not quite a city, situated in the mountains and hills of northern Atlantis. Caerdydd had heard unusual stories of Cibwr. Most recently, she had heard that their lord had never been seen to keep away the dragons and beasts in the mountains, and yet still Cibwr remained safe. This, she thought, was very interesting, and she wished to meet this amazing lord. Guided by her stones, Caerdydd journeyed to Cibwr.

When she arrived, she began to ask questions about Cibwr's lord. She could see his black castle, nestled protectively against a large hill. Yet, when Caerdydd asked her questions, the answers she received were so astounding that she had to cast her stones again and again before she could believe them.

Cibwr's lord was a young man named Albatou, and that was all that anybody could tell her for certain. He rarely left his black castle, and had not been seen in many months; some had never seen him at all. Yet, when there was trouble, they would receive instruction by a pure white carrier dove. He knew everything that happened, somehow.

Every so often, though—and nobody ever knew when it would be—Albatou would come down from his black castle. He never flew, or even showed his wings as a proper Ispano lord should. He never walked, either. He appeared to them swathed in a black cloak, with the cowl drawn over his face so that no one could see him, and he rode upon a snowy lion. He kept fifteen of the creatures, all with fur as white as the doves and eyes as blue as the sky. Two or three could always be seen prowling the castle, and the rest stalking around the outskirts of Cibwr.

Caerdydd was surprised to learn that the people of Cibwr did not fear the lions. They were a familiar sight, and many a hunter had a story of one of the lions leaping out to save him from a hungry wolf on a cold winter's night. If anything, the lions were a more familiar sight than the lord whom they served.

The people of Cibwr often wondered why their lord should hide himself so. Perhaps he was disfigured, and therefore would not allow himself to be seen. When Caerdydd arrived, the people came to ask her, and she cast her stones. For the first time in her life, Caerdydd found that her stones did not answer her.

The people of Cibwr took this as a sign for the worst. They cried that their lord must be dying, and that was why he hid himself from them. Some of them grieved, and some of them wondered if they should not, perhaps, be thankful that they might be soon rid of this strange and brooding ruler.

Caerdydd did not see any of the magnificent lions until her third night in Cibwr. Word of her inquiries had reached all the way to the mysterious Lord Albatou, and prompted one of the rare occasions that he ventured forth from his stone fortress. He rode into the streets astride the largest of the white lions, and the other fourteen walked in two rows beside him, like a king's guard of honour. The fingers that entwined in the lions' fur were as white as the lions, and that was all of Albatou that anyone could see. The rest of him was covered by his black cloak. And what a lovely garment it was! Woven from the finest black cloth, it was embroidered with tiny red suns around the hem and the edges of the hood.

Lord Albatou sought out Caerdydd. She came to meet him in the street, confident that she had done nothing wrong. Albatou spoke, and for many who had seen him, it was still the first time they had heard his voice. "Who are you," he demanded, "who come here and stir up these rumors?"

Now, Caerdydd knew that Albatou was an attentive lord, and that he already knew who she was—probably knew more about her than most of the people of Cibwr. She calmly replied that she had not meant to stir up any trouble, that it was his own people who had jumped to such dangerous conclusions.

Albatou immediately took offense. He swung off his lion, the rest of the beasts drawing nearer, and though Caerdydd could not see his face, she could feel that he must be glaring horribly at her. "Give me a reason," he growled," why I should allow you to stay here."

Caerdydd drew herself up tall, her wings spread wide, and her violet eyes flashed, and her black hair billowed in the wind. She drew from her pocket two small bags. The first held white chalk dust, and with this she made a circle on the ground. The other held her stones.

Tipping the stones into her hand, Caerdydd cupped them to her heart, then flung them into the circle. She bent over them, studying their positions carefully, and Albatou glowered at her, one white hand stroking a lion's white fur.

Caerdydd straightened, and she faced Albatou, and with a calm smile, she held up three fingers.

The lord's reaction was extraordinary. He flew into a fit of rage, and from beneath his cloak he drew a silver sword. He leapt at Caerdydd, who had not expected such an attack, and the first thing she thought to do was to pick up the black stone and hurl it at Albatou. To her surprise, it struck him in the shoulder, and it exploded, burning open the fabric of his cloak and even the flesh beneath it.

Undaunted, Albatou thrust at Caerdydd, and she jumped aside, scooping up her stones from the ground. She threw the white stone, and it burst and burned upon his skin. She hurled the clear, the blue, the yellow, the violet, the green, and Albatou reeled back. The orange stone sailed beneath the cowl and struck him in the face, and as Albatou stumbled back, the hood fell away. He cried out and clapped a hand over his eyes in pain, but still, the people of Cibwr looked upon the face of their lord for the first time.

He was a young man, and yet his hair was white, like an old man's. His skin was pale as his porcelain hands, and Caerdydd caught a glimpse of his eyes between his perfect fingers.

Stunned, she could only stand there, watching him, fingering her last stone. Bleeding, limping, Albatou's sword disappeared again beneath his cloak. The largest lion found him, and he mounted the beast, and rode away down the street without so much as a word, his silver hair streaming behind him.

Only then did Caerdydd look down at her last stone. It had been the first she had enchanted, and now her only remaining one, and it was red, just like Albatou's eyes.

Caerdydd found herself in quite a fix. Many people wanted to know the significance of those three fingers she had held up, and as much as she resented Albatou for his treatment of her, still she could not divulge such a terrible secret. Nobody saw Albatou over the next few days, nor his lion entourage. Things began to change. First wolves began to venture down from the mountains, and then ice-wraiths. Even a mountain dragon was seen, and soon, people began to die mysterious deaths.

Now, Caerdydd knew that she could not stand aside and let these things come to pass, yet without her stones, she knew not what to do. The people of Cibwr first asked her, and then demanded her, to go to their lord and make amends, so that he would protect them once again. Caerdydd could not refuse them, and so, clutching her last stone to her breast, she flew to Albatou's castle.

There was only one door she could see, and its ebony surface was carved in a pattern of crystal snowflakes. In the center there was a golden knocker shaped like a lion with a ring in its jaws; this Caerdydd lifted, and she let it fall with a heavy thud. The sound resounded through the valley, bouncing off the mountains, and the very trees trembled and shook their leaves. The sound died away, and the valley held its breath. The door clicked, and it glided open without a noise on well-oiled hinges.

Caerdydd did not expect Albatou himself to answer the door. A lord would, of course, have servants to do such things, and a fragile-looking woman gazed back from the dark inside. She had blonde curls, and bright blue eyes, and she smiled and said that she had been expecting Caerdydd. She kept her wings in, like Albatou. She ushered Caerdydd inside. She was the lord's twin sister, and her name was Escaflowne.

They passed through dim hallways, and then Caerdydd was led into a crystal-roofed aviary. She had not expected to find such a thing! Sparrows and starlings flitted through the leaves, and a fountain splashed in the center of the enclosure. All fifteen of the white lions circled the room, all except for one which lay in the soft grass, and which Albatou had propped his head against. The young lord had shed his concealing cloak, and Caerdydd could see bandages from the wounds she had given him.

He was sleeping, Escaflowne explained, but she would wake him. He would be eager to hear an apology from Caerdydd, for the last stone Caerdydd had thrown at him had struck him blind. He wanted reparations; he could not take care of his people in this state, she told Caerdydd. He could hardly take care of his poor, frail sister who he spent all his time with. She had to take care of him, now, and he could only keep her company.

They had always worked well together, Escaflowne continued. She was weak in body, but her mind was strong, so she would use her mind through the lions to help her brother protect the town. She saw things that he didn't.

Caerdydd wondered if Escaflowne knew about her brother's deformity. Surely she must. She answered before Caerdydd could ask.

Neither of them could fly. Escaflowne had only one wing and, as Caerdydd already knew, Albatou had three. They hid themselves away, had always hidden themselves away, and quietly dealt with the threats of the mountains.

Until Caerdydd came. Escaflowne had had a vision, when Caerdydd came. She had seen a way to rid Cibwr of the monsters in the mountains. But she knew that Caerdydd wouldn't agree, because they needed her stones.

Escaflowne shook Albatou to wake him, and he sat, turning his red, red eyes to Caerdydd. He reached out and seized her wrist in his strong grip, and he would not let go.

"I had hoped that it would be a little easier to lure you up here," he growled. That was what the scene at the inn had been about, Caerdydd realized. Not a real attempt on her life, but an excuse to get her away and ask for her help.

Caerdydd did not realize that Albatou had intended to kill her and take her stones away. He told her as much, and then explained that her life was not in danger anymore. Now that there was only one stone left, he and Escaflowne would need Caerdydd, too.

Caerdydd wasn't in much of a mind to help Albatou with anything, but Escaflowne was a different story. Escaflowne had been in favor of _talking_, something that Albatou tended not to even consider as an option. It was for Cibwr, and for Escaflowne, that Caerdydd agreed.

Caerdydd spent the rest of the day as a guest at the snowflake-gated castle, and in the morning they went to the roof with the lions. Escaflowne was there. Albatou was not.

The original plan, Escaflowne told Caerdydd, and been to use Caerdydd's stones to locate all of the mountain creatures. She and Albatou could then join their abilities together, with the power in the stones, and kill them all. Now, this could not work, as Caerdydd had only one stone left. Escaflowne had a plan, but it would be harder. First, Caerdydd needed to be Albatou's eyes. She explained the new plan to Caerdydd, who agreed.

With some reluctance, Caerdydd handed over her last stone, that was red like Albatou's eyes. She climbed astride the back of the largest lion, and the beasts fanned out across the forest. Caerdydd's lion took her to Albatou, who was waiting on the ground with his sword in his hands. She climbed off the lion, and he took hold of her arm, and Escaflowne linked them together, so that Albatou could look through Caerdydd's eyes.

With Escaflowne directing them through the power of the red stone, the lions scattered and drove all the mountain-demons to Albatou. There were dragons, serpents, wolves, banshees, and all manner of icy creatures. He began to fight them, with his sword in one hand and Caerdydd's wrist in the other. She called directions to him, and protected him with her own skills with destiny, until at last all of the creatures were together. Then, Escaflowne used the greatest of her magics, a fate-skill nearly like those that the Ispano used to create the Othermoon. She gathered all the creatures together and forced them into Caerdydd's stone, and hurled it away into the sky!

Tragically, so great was the effort that this thing took that Albatou, Escaflowne, Caerdydd, and the lions all collapsed and perished from exhaustion. But it is thanks to their sacrifice that both worlds are free of demons even to today.

"The End of Caerdydd's Stones."

Dilandau and Hitomi sat together in uneasy silence, turning the story over in their heads. "Do you want me to go on to the next one?" Hitomi asked, but he could hear the spine of the book creak as she closed it.

"No," he told her belatedly. "It wasn't very good, was it? Sort of anticlimactic."

"It's supposed to be a children's story," Hitomi reminded him. Silence.

"I think we both have an idea of what's going on here," Dilandau said quietly. He couldn't tell whether Hitomi's awkward 'hmm' was affirmative or negative. Actually, he didn't know if any of that had meant anything to Hitomi. For him, certain parts sounded a little too familiar.

_Adelphos gave me the surname 'Albatou' as a joke, after a lion-god in Freid. Folken let him get away with it because Albatou had been a character in a book that he liked. He never told me that it was a _children's _book._

_So, how much of that was made up, and how much of it really happened?_

"I'm not sure what you mean," Hitomi said. "I've never heard this story before." But she sounded uneasy.

_She's lying,_ Dilandau thought. _What is it that she's not telling me?_

"I think I should talk to Sir Allen about this," Hitomi said.

"I know how I fit into this. But where are you?" Again, Dilandau wished that he could read Hitomi's face as she sat silent and thinking.

"Well..." she said finally. Dilandau remained quiet. He didn't want to pressure her and scare her away. He heard cloth rustling, and the soft tinkle of a delicate chain. "My grandmother gave me this," she said finally. "I think it might have something to do with the story." Dilandau held out his hand, and Hitomi dropped a piece of jewelry into his palm. He turned the smooth stone in his fingers, trying to form an image of it. "The chain is gold," Hitomi said, "and the stone is red."

"You think that this is Caerdydd's last stone?" Dilandau asked skeptically. _Way to jump to conclusions._ "It was just a children's story, you know."

"But sometimes those stories are true!" Hitomi took her pendant, and Dilandau sat back in his chair, hooking one leg over an armrest.

"So, since I'm albino and my surname is Albatou, you think I must be this character reborn? Wrong. I'm human, and I don't keep lions." Idiot girl.

"We need to talk to somebody about this," Hitomi repeated. "Someone smart who knows a lot about history."

Folken immediately sprang to Dilandau's mind, but he held his tongue. Folken had enough to juggle right now. "Someone we can trust," he agreed. A pause.

"Sir Allen," Hitomi suggested. Dilandau sighed.

"Do you know what that man is really like? The rumors say that he's mostly concerned with chasing anything female that walks on two legs."

"That's not true!" Hitomi retorted, more forcefully than Dilandau would have suspected. "He'll never break his word. We can trust him."

"And what makes you think he's going to know anything that will relate to this?" Dilandau grinned. "Of course, the word of a Knight Caeli is not to be taken lightly." _And I'll be a dragon-man if they're all really as honourable as they say they are._ "But please, give me this one favor—do not reveal what is not yours to tell, for the time being."

"Yeah, I can do that." Hitomi tapped a fingernail against the hard cover of the book. "Is it okay if I keep this? I can tell Allen that I found it in the library."

"Fair enough." Dilandau leaned forward and rested a hand on Hitomi's shoulder, halting her as she tried to stand. "Now, what makes you think that there's something unusual about that necklace of yours? You know, there's a lot of red stones out there."

_Asturian_ lace, he thought to himself, withdrawing his hand. So much for using her clothes to figure out where she had come from. A far-off country with unusual traditions. That didn't help much.

"I'd rather not say yet." His hand brushed soft hair as he pulled it back, and he paused. _Women's hairstyles are often regional._ Lightly, so as not to frighten her, he brushed his fingers across the side of her head. "What are you doing?" Hitomi asked, sounding more curious than alarmed.

"Trying to get a mental image," he told her. _What do you_ think _I'm doing? I'm not Allen Schezar!_ "What colour are your eyes?"

"Green."

Around and down to the back of her neck where her hair feathered against her neck and...stopped?

Dilandau leapt out of his chair. "You're a boy!" he exclaimed. _What the_ hell _are they pulling on me?_

"No I'm not!" Hitomi cried. "Do I _sound_ like a man?"

"I said _boy_," Dilandau snapped, clasping his hands tightly at the small of his back. No way was he going to use those to confirm gender.

"Hey, you're not exactly the pinnacle of masculinity yourself!" Hitomi argued. "Women do have short hair in some places, you know!"

_Gotcha._ "Like _where?_"

Hitomi paused.

_Ha. Can't get out of answering me now._

"Daedalus," she answered. "And women wear pants there, too."

Now Dilandau paused. "What's the capital of Daedauls?" he asked cautiously.

"Icarus," Hitomi answered without hesitation.

_Sounds legitimate to me. Hell if I can remember what it is._ He assumed that she would have to stop and make something up, if she was lying.

"All right, then." He sat back down. "Remember, just don't tell you knight friend too much."

"You're sure getting worked up over a children's story." Hitomi's footsteps made a half-circle around his chair, and the blindfold pressed over his eyes again.

"You said yourself that sometimes those stories are based in truth," Dilandau reminded her. "It's been a long time since I've been to Daedalus, but some strange things have been going on around here."

He wished that he could see her. A woman with a fine Asturian dress and short hair was proving difficult to picture. He couldn't get any closer than the bald cross-sections of the human anatomy that Folken had sketched out for him to study. What kind of a lady would have short hair?

Maybe she wasn't a lady. A whore would fit Allen Schezar's reputation. But if that was the case, she wouldn't have been able to set foot inside the castle gates before Princess Eries descended upon her.

"What do you do, Miss Kanzaki?" he asked. She finished knotting the blindfold behind his head.

"Do?" she asked quizzically.

"For a living."

"Oh!" He heard her chair scrape as she adjusted it, and creak as she sat down again. "Um...well...I'm a student, really." Dilandau nodded sagely.

"That explains it." Daedalus was a democracy—an entirely inefficient way of governing, as far as he was concerned. Letting the ignorant masses pick one of their own to rule was probably the reason that Daedalus was still so backward and small. He did have to hand it to them, though, the intellect of the average Daedalus peasant was substantially higher than that of—oh, say, a Fanelian peasant. They had more philosophers than Fanelia had chickens. And a mandatory system of education, like Zaibach. But while Zaibach focused on the sciences, Daedalus emphasized things like...poetry, and music...and mathematics, for some reason. "Athlete, too?"

"Yeah. Mostly sprinting."

"Theatre?"

"Er...I like to watch, if that's what you mean."

Well, no wonder. She was the spitting image of an up-and-coming Daedalus woman. Her name still bothered him a bit, but then, the last time he had visited Palas, all the women had been gossiping about an official of a Daedalus city-state who had named his son Legislation.

He found, for some reason, that he wanted to trust her. Maybe it was just nice to find someone outside of the Vione who didn't treat him like a piece of furniture—albeit an expensive piece of furniture, but furniture.

"Perhaps we'll have to race when I'm well again," he said lazily. "I've never fought a woman before."

"Yeah, but what would you do if I beat you?" Hitomi asked.

"Well, then, it'd be obvious that you've been lying, and you really are a boy."

"Hmph!"

Dilandau waited for Hitomi to say something more, but their conversation finally lapsed into awkward silence.

"Perhaps you could show me to my room now?" Dilandau suggested. He wanted time alone to ponder everything that had just happened, and hopefully, Hitomi would use the time to talk to the knight Allen. Hopefully, she wouldn't say too much.

Hitomi's chair scraped back, and she guided his hand to the now-familiar spot on his arm. At least he would be free of that wretched little book for a bit, he thought as they turned into the hallway.

_Admit it,_ his conscience taunted him, _you want it to be about you. You want to think that children since the time of Atlantis have been hearing about you._

_Bah!_ he countered, feeling slightly silly for arguing with himself. _The story was about a Draconian. I would have to have Draconian blood, and I know I'm all human._

_Right?_

Doubt curled itself up in the back of his mind and refused to let him brush it away.

_Folken would definitely tell me if I wasn't all human._

_Unless he thought that I had enough to deal with already._

_No, he's not_ that _caring._

_Oh, hell, now I'm doubting whether I'm human or not?_

_This has to be Shays's fault. I never thought these kind of things before I ended up in the Mystic Valley. I'm Dilandau Albatou. I'm albino, because I've seen myself, and I know that I am. I'm a man, because...I have the things necessary to be a man, and I don't have certain other things that would make me something else. And I'm human, because I don't have wings or a tail or anything else that would make me something else. And that's that._

_But I don't even know who my parents are, or where I come from, really. For all I know—_

"Dilandau?" Hitomi's voice interrupted him. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I am," he snapped. Damn nosy woman!

"Because, well, your face looks sort of sick. No offense. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Of course!"

"Um. You're making my hand go numb," Hitomi told him apologetically. He loosened his grip on her arm.

"Sorry," he muttered. Hitomi tugged the blindfold up over his forehead.

"I know that you're sick. Are you really, really sure that you don't need to sit down for a minute?" Her fingertips brushed against his closed eyelids as she moved the blindfold out of the way.

_Dilandau!_

Dilandau gasped sharply. Without thinking, he caught Hitomi's hands and pressed her palms over his eyes. She squeaked in surprise, and a figure broke through the white light that obscured his vision.

"Allen!"

The moment the Knight Caeli heard his name called up the hallway, he turned on his heel and started running.

"Allen!" Hitomi shouted. Van's footsteps fell in behind him.

"I'm coming, Hitomi!" he called back.

There couldn't possibly be anything in the palace that would threaten Hitomi, could there? But, she never ran around screaming unless something was wrong. She didn't sound panicked. Then, what--?

His hand went to his sword hilt as he spied Hitomi. Dilandau knelt in front of her, holding her hands to his eyes. Hitomi looked back and forth from Dilandau to Allen.

"What's happening to him?" Hitomi cried. Dilandau's brow was furrowed, and he spoke, but not to them.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

"Let her go!" Allen ordered. Hitomi shook her head.

"He can't hear you. He's not hurting me, but...I think I might be hurting _him._"

Van prodded Dilandau in the side with his sheathed sword. "No, answer me now!" Dilandau growled. Hitomi shrugged helplessly.

Van tugged on Dilandau's arm, but he might as well have been pulling on a fencepost. He pried at Dilandau's hands around Hitomi's wrists, but he couldn't even loosen Dilandau's white-knuckled grip. He scratched the back of his neck in resignation.

"Well, then."

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Hitomi tried to wriggle her hands loose. "Allen, I need to ask you about something, once I'm free." She maneuvered one foot up against Dilandau's chest and pushed. "Let me go before you hurt yourself!" she told him.

"He didn't try to hurt you?" Van asked skeptically. Hitomi shook her head.

"I was taking him to his room, and all of a sudden he started looking really sick. So I told him, and then he did this."

They all looked to Dilandau. He had fallen silent for the last few minutes. Now he spoke again.

"Celena?"

The colour drained out of Allen's face.


	25. Chapter 25: Armistice

A/N: Today marks the three-year anniversary of La Ra Everlasting Frost. Three years, and it's still not finished, heh heh. For everyone who's stuck with me this entire time—thank you very much. The word count has now surpassed that of the average novel. I can't believe I still have readers. O.O

As always, I promise—even if everybody stops reading, and even if it takes me three more years, I WILL finish this fanfiction.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 25 – Armistice**

"Celena?" Allen gasped. "Did he say Celena?"

"I-I think so," Hitomi stammered. She wiggled her fingers, trying to free herself from Dilandau's grasp. "I'm afraid I'm going to poke him in the eye."

"Might snap him out of it," Van mumbled under his breath. Hitomi glared at him.

Allen seized Dilandau's wrists and twisted. Dilandau gasped as his fingers sprang open, and he hugged his wrenched hands to his chest. "What do you know about Celena?" Allen demanded.

"Who the hell is Celena?" Dilandau growled.

Hitomi looked up at Allen, rubbing her wrists. "I don't think you've ever mentioned a Celena before."

"She was my sister." Allen folded his arms. "She disappeared when she was a child. I've always suspected that Zaibach was involved."

"Now's not the time to start getting upset about your sister!" Van hissed. "We've got more important things to worry about!"

"I don't know any woman named Celena!" Dilandau clambered to his feet. Surely his glare used to be quite fearsome, Hitomi thought, but it lost its fierceness when his eyes failed to focus on anything. "I grew up on a floating fortress, Schezar. There aren't any women there except the maids, and we're not so desperate for cleaning help that we have to kidnap from other countries."

Allen seemed to wilt, just a bit. "You said her name, just now." He still sounded hopeful. Hitomi slipped the blindfold out of Dilandau's hands and rose up on her toes to tie it around his head. "I heard you. You said 'Celena'," Allen finished.

Dilandau's face clouded. "I don't know...what just happened there. But I don't know anything about your sister, Sir Allen."

"Say!" Hitomi hooked her arm through Dilandau's again and caught Allen's sleeve with her free hand, wishing she had a third arm to drag Van with. "Why don't you two come with me while I show Commander Albatou to his room? There's something I want to ask you about."

"I'll take him," Van offered. "You two can go on ahead."

Hitomi blinked. "Huh? That's pretty helpful of you, Van." What was he up to? He knew that Dilandau had led the attack against Fanelia. Why would he volunteer to help Dilandau? _But I want to talk to you about the book too, Van. It's about your people. Maybe later would be better, though. I keep forgetting that Allen doesn't know that you're a Draconian._

Just don't do anything stupid, Van. Hitomi let go of Dilandau's arm. "Okay. I'll see you at dinner, then." She tugged at Allen's sleeve. "Come on, let's go to the library."

Dilandau stiffened as Van's gloved hand closed around his arm and pulled him down the hallway. "Not so fast! I can't see where I'm going, remember?"

Van waited until Allen and Hitomi's footsteps had fallen out of earshot before replying. "You destroyed my country," he growled.

Dilandau smirked. "Little me? A whole country, all by myself? I'm flattered you think I'm capable of accomplishing such a thing. All in one night, too, I suppose?"

"You and your soldiers!" Van gave him a jerk around a corner.

"Well, technically, most of them were the Zaibach Empire's soldiers—"

"Stop it!" Van's grip tightened. "It's bad enough that you killed them! You don't have to disgrace them, too!"

Dilandau planted his feet. If this rash little king intended to drag him around, he wasn't going to make it easy. "It wasn't anything personal. I was just doing my duty."

"Duty, huh? So it's your duty to slaughter a bunch of innocent people?"

"It's not my fault that they didn't get out of the way," Dilandau retorted.

"You!" Van shoved Dilandau back against a wall. He heard a _shing_, and cold metal pressed against his throat.

"Go on, kill me," Dilandau sneered. "And then try to explain to Asturia why their honoured guest from Zaibach is gone. Go on."

"I can hide your body and run."

"You can't run forever."

"I know the woods."

"You know the _Fanelian_ woods, and those are in short supply now, aren't they? Go on. Kill me. My men will be after you like bats out of hell. They've already done it once." Van didn't need to know that the Dragon Slayers hadn't actually been able to find Shays. "Try me, Fanelia King."

The sword at his neck shook, pricking his skin uncomfortably, but Van didn't lower it. "Tell me why you attacked Fanelia."

"Because the Emperor ordered it," Dilandau replied nonchalantly.

"Tell me why my people had to die."

"Hey, just following orders."

"Don't give me that!" Van shifted his grip on the sword, bracing it, perhaps, for a killing strike. Dilandau couldn't get away—not without being able to see where he was going. "That's not good enough!" Van shouted. "What was Zaibach after? Tell me!" Van's voice quieted. "Tell me what Zaibach wanted...so that maybe my people didn't die without a reason. If Zaibach has a greater goal—maybe I can live with that. Maybe I can forgive you for that. But if you were just there for conquest..." he trailed off, and Dilandau couldn't tell whether to interpret his silence as resignation or a threat.

"The Emperor wants us to capture the dragon. Escaflowne. I don't know what he wants with it." Dilandau lifted his hands, feeling in the air for the blade of the sword. He gripped it carefully and tried to move it away, but met resistance. He frowned. "I'm just a soldier, Fanelia King. I do my duty." When it suits me, he added mentally.

"Even when your duty means killing innocent people? How can you live with that?" Van cried.

"Because the only alternative is not to live."

"You could leave!"

"And go where? They'd find me. They'd get me back." Dilandau still cringed at the memory of the Sorcerers, even knowing that the four who always plagued him were dead. "If I refuse to obey, they'll make me obey, Fanelia King. You don't know what it's like to have one of them inside your head and their needles under your skin." Dilandau shoved the sword away, ignoring the bite into the heels of his hands. "I look out for myself first. It's all I can do to stay in control of my own fate."

"Then you lost control a long time ago when you joined the army in the first place."

"Did I?" Dilandau cackled. "I've never known anything _but_ the army. They raised me." He spread his arms to his sides. "Made me what I am today. What an ungrateful brat I am, no?" Silence from Van. "With all that they've done for me, it would be horrid of me not to do as they ask, no? After all, I _owe them my life._"

Dilandau heard Van sheathe his sword and breathed an inward sigh of relief. He lowered his arms. "My reason for fighting in Fanelia was the same as yours: survival. Your scrappy little country has nearly cost me my life anyway." He touched the blindfold around his head. "It cost me my eyes already."

He didn't expect a sympathetic response from Van. Maybe an 'oh', or even just 'up yours, Zaibach ass'. But Van stood there, silent, for several minutes.

"What will the Emperor do with Escaflowne?" Van asked quietly.

_Oh, you bastard. Can't we get some sort of closure from this conversation and move on? A mutual 'I hate your guts, so die'?_

"I have no idea what Emperor Dornkirk wants with your guymelef," Dilandau told him honestly. "I think he's going senile, but Folken seems to know what he's doing. I trust Folken."

"Folken is a traitor," Van replied stiffly.

"He's truer to himself than you are."

"How is that?"

"He admits when he's wrong. He admits that he doesn't have all the answers. He has a plan for his life; that's more than you can say. He never forgot about Fanelia. Whatever the Emperor is up to, Folken's been making sure that it'll be good for Fanelia, too. And what are you doing for your country, huh? Moping around in Asturia."

"Don't pretend to know what's best for my country."

"Pah. So I burned down your city. A country's not just a city. As long as you've got people and a king you can rebuild, and I _know_ we left plenty of refugees. You should be finding your people and rebuilding instead of getting in my way."

Dilandau turned and started walking again, grinning smugly, satisfied with the certainty that he had just left Van utterly dumbfounded.

Allen refrained from talking until they reached the library, but Hitomi could see him biting back questions. As she expected, he opened his mouth the moment the door shut.

"Hitomi—"

"Read this." Hitomi held out the copy of _Caerdydd's Stones_. Allen looked down at it, puzzled.

"This? Why?"

"Just read the first story, and then I'll explain. It won't make sense otherwise."

Allen took the book, flipped open the cover, and frowned. He brought the book closer to his face, squinting at the text, then looked back to Hitomi. "All right, what's your point?" He sounded a bit irritated. Hitomi wondered why.

"If you're just going to pretend to read it, you could at least turn a few pages!" Hitomi folded her arms, looking away. "I _am_ being serious! Nothing I have to say will make sense unless you read it! I mean, it is a children's book, but—"

"Hitomi, I can't read this," Allen interrupted. He turned the book around to show her and pointed a gloved finger at the text. "I've never even seen this language before."

Hitomi took another look at the characters on the page. Now that Allen mentioned it, he was right—it wasn't in Gaean, or Japanese, or even English. "Oh! I didn't notice that!" Ever since coming to Gaea, languages had stopped meaning anything—she could read and understand anything, even if she didn't recognize the language. "I'm sorry! I forgot."

Allen chuckled. "It's all right. What language is it in? It's not a Gaean alphabet."

"It must be from Earth." Hitomi took the book from Allen. "There's a lot of ws and ls," she mused. "I don't know what language it's in. But I can read it."

"Then read it to me, if you please." Allen pulled out a chair for Hitomi, then sat down himself.

_He's sitting in the same chair that Dilandau chose. And I'm in the same place._ Hitomi shrugged off the strange feeling and read the story quietly to Allen. It felt strange the second time through, being conscious of knowing and not knowing the language at the same time.

When she finished, Allen leaned back and folded his arms, inclining his head thoughtfully. "Hmm. That's a strange story. Certainly never one I heard growing up."

"Me neither," Hitomi agreed.

"The odd thing," Allen continued, "is that it's written in a Mystic Moon language, but it's about Gaea. Here in Asturia, everything about the Draconians has been destroyed, so this book must have come from somewhere else. Where did you say that you got it from?"

"Dilandau had it," Hitomi admitted, swinging her feet. "Don't let him know I told you! Listen—there's something strange about this story. There's a character named Escaflowne, and Albatou. And my pendant—all that was left was Caerdydd's _red_ stone."

"I agree that we should find out more. It might help us find out what Zaibach is after." Allen sighed. "But I don't know much about these sort of things." Hitomi's face fell. "We'd need to talk to some kind of scholar—maybe someone from Freid. They still worship Atlantis, there." Allen drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "But this isn't the sort of thing you can go asking questions about without drawing attention to yourself."

"Maybe Van will know something. I wanted to talk to him, too.

"That boy!" Allen suddenly took on the air of one fighting off a headache. "Jichia, he's probably killed Dilandau by now!" Hitomi giggled in spite of herself. "Try to keep the book, if you can. I'll see about finding us a scholar. One we can trust."

"Um...?"

Hitomi and Allen both jumped at the new voice. Princess Millerna peered out from behind a bookcase. "I couldn't help overhearing—"

"You were eavesdropping on us?" Hitomi yelped, jumping to her feet. "How much did you hear?"

"Well, all of it—" the princess stammered. Hitomi flushed angrily.

_She knows I'm from Earth!_

Millerna regained her dignity and strode across the room. "If you need a scholar, Allen, I can help you. I know you must have a reason for what you're doing, so I won't ask you to explain."

"Are you certain?" Allen cocked his head doubtfully. "Forgive me for saying so, Princess, but your associates don't tend to be very...discreet."

"That's not true!" Millerna retorted. "How would Dryden Fassa suit you?"

Allen laughed. "Perfect! He's so discreet, nobody will be able to find him to question him!"

Hitomi glanced back and forth between the knight and the princess. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm missing something here?" she wondered.

When Millerna glared at Allen, his laughter died. "You're kidding," he said. "You know where Dryden Fassa is? And you can get him to stay in one place long enough to help us?"

"_Who_ is Dryden Fassa?" Hitomi shouted. _Don't shut me out! This was my conversation in the first place!_

Millerna folded her arms. "He's the son of Meiden Fassa, one of my father's advisors. He's a very _successful_ merchant, and he's an expert in rarities. He's very intelligent. He knows a great deal about the Mystic Moon."

"He's an eccentric vagabond," Allen whispered to Hitomi. "Even his own father can't keep track of him between trades." Hitomi snickered.

"That's not the point!" Millerna told them. "He's a renowned scholar in ancient and Mystic Moon history, and you know it, Allen Schezar! Now, do you want me to get him for you or not?"

"How is it that you can find him when his own father can't?" Hitomi asked skeptically.

Millerna's face fell, and she looked away. "Well...because I'm his fiancée."

"Your _what_?" Hitomi and Allen cried in unison.

"I didn't really have much choice about it. Father accepted the proposal for me." Millerna shrugged sadly. "But that's not what's important right now. Tell me what's going on—" she fixed the pair in her gaze "—_all_ of it, and I'll do my best to help you."

Hitomi looked to Allen, then back to Millerna, and nodded.

* * *

The hum of machines filled the air, and Eriya's soft-booted feet made little noise as she walked across the softly lit room. Three cylinders on three pedestals, but she only needed one for the task Folken had asked of her. Standing in the triangle that the pedestals created, she gave the cylinder before her a deft spin. General Adelphos's face sprang to the circular screen on the wall.

"Vione Fortress! We slay dragons!" Eriya exclaimed, imitating a hawker calling from her table at the bazaar. "How may I help you?"

"I wished to speak with Strategos Folken," Adelphos told her. Eriya tossed her head.

"He's too busy to bother with you. He sent me instead. What do you want?"

The screen froze for a moment—Adelphos had probably paused the transmission to curse her. "I wished to inquire about Folken's progress in sorting out the unusual events occurring on the Vione. Your fortress has been silent ever since you dropped Dilandau off in Palas."

"How would you know that?" Eriya demanded, folding her arms and leaning forward so that her suspicious expression would fill Adelphos's screen.

"My fortress has been waiting in the Chatal Mountains. I've been monitoring you."

Eriya's tail bristled. "You were supposed to go back to Zaibach!"

"How dare you speak to a general that way!"

"How dare you spy on Lord Folken! I don't answer to anyone but him anyway!" Eriya slapped at the cylinder, and the screen winked out in the middle of Adelphos's retort. "Well, whatever. He never has anything important to say, anyway." The lights faded behind Eriya as she left the room. "That kid must really be important to Lord Folken, if he's going to all this trouble."

Eriya slid open the door to Folken's room silently, slowly—and a good thing, too. Naria, perched on the end of Folken's bed, looked up and pressed a finger to her lips when she spied her sister. Folken still sat at his desk where they had left him, his head on his organic arm, breathing soft and even in sleep. His mechanical hand still rested on the desktop, poised to write, but the pen had fallen out of his fingers. Naria had turned the lamps down.

"Poor Lord Folken," Eriya whispered, replacing the dropped pen in the inkwell. "He's working so hard. Think we should get him into bed?" Naria shook her head.

"We'd wake him up. Just leave him." Instead she rose, dragged the blanket off Folken's bed, and draped it around his sleeping form.

Folken stirred as the fabric brushed his cheek, and he groped for the hissing lamp. Eriya snatched it up out of his reach. "Did I fall asleep?" he mumbled, lifting his head and blinking. "Girls, are you still here? Turn that light up."

"It'll wake you up, Lord Folken!" Eriya argued.

"That's what I need." Folken took the lamp back from Eriya's hands and turned the little knob at its base; the blue-white flame sprang up higher. "Thank you for meeting with Adelphos for me. What did he want?"

"To criticize you!" Eriya studied her fingers, sliding her claws in and out. "He's been spying on us from the Chatal Mountains!"

"That doesn't surprise me. What else?"

"I don't know. I cut him off."

Folken sighed. "I know you're not fond of him, but you can't keep doing that."

"What's he going to do to us? We don't answer to him!"

"Lord Folken, why don't you give us more to do?" Naria interjected. "You're still trying to handle too much." Folken pushed back his chair and started to rise, but Naria dropped to the floor and rested her chin on his knee. "You're going to start falling asleep standing up next!"

"Let us help, Lord Folken." Eriya joined her sister on Folken's other side. Folken patted their heads, smiling tiredly.

"No, girls. You're Zaibach's Enhanced Fortune Soldiers. You shouldn't be stuck at a desk doing paperwork all the time."

"And neither should you!" Naria argued. "If you won't delegate to us, then give some of that supernatural research to Shays. It's about time he started doing something around here." Folken shook his head.

"I can't ask that of him. He's not feeling well."

"Tell him to suck it up!" Eriya sniffed. "How does he think you're feeling?"

"Grandma stays busy. She's a big help, what with the cooking staff starting to desert," Naria added. "She learns fast."

Folken laughed out loud. "Grandma? She lets you call her that?"

"She likes it!"

Eriya grinned. "Though she wishes her dear foster son had been a little older than seven before deciding to have children."

"You two!"

"You'll go to sleep now, right, Lord Folken?" Naria asked. "It's almost midnight."

"No, I'm afraid not. I still have too much to do." Folken leaned forward, hooked a finger through the handle of his desk-lamp, and pulled it closer, eyes already falling on the papers scattered across his desk.

Naria glanced back to Eriya. "I think we're going to have to, Sister."

Eriya's ears pricked up, and she lifted her head. "Finally?" Naria nodded.

"Have to what?" Folken asked distractedly, his organic hand still stroking Naria's hair.

"Just something we've been thinking about," Eriya answered.

"Oh?"

"Operation—" Naria began,

"Golden Rule—" Eriya continued,

"—of Love!" they chorused, grabbing hold of Folken's shoes and pulling them off.

"What--?" Folken yelped, but Naria had already unfastened the button of his cloak. Eriya jerked the chair out from under him, and Naria whipped the cloak off. "Girls—?" Naria gave him a hard shove forward, and Eriya kicked out his legs. Unsuspecting, without a chance to react, the Strategos tumbled neatly into bed.

"We're sorry, Lord Folken, but it's for your own good!" Naria tossed the blanket over Folken, covering him from head to foot. Eriya turned down the desk-lamp, leaving the two at the foot of his bed burning softly. Folken levered himself up on one elbow, but fell down again with an 'oof!' as the twins sat down on top of him.

"When you love someone, you have to take care of them," Eriya recited, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Even if they don't want to do what's best for them."

"So, Lord Folken," Naria continued, "we're not moving until you go to sleep!"

"Girls, I don't have time for this!" Folken warned; face-down in his pillow, he just wasn't very intimidating.

"You can't threaten us, Lord Folken. It doesn't work anymore."

Pause.

"I can't breathe."

"We'll wait until you pass out, then."

"Could we take the blanket off my head?"

Eriya lifted up one corner of the blanket and peered under. Folken glared at her, but his shoulders shook with barely-controlled laughter.

"I suppose!"

With mock resignation, the twins jumped up. Folken turned onto his back and pulled the blanket off his face.

"I get your point. I'll get some sleep."

"Good." Naria and Eriya dropped to their knees on either side of Folken's bed, clasping his hands in theirs. "You have to take care of yourself, Lord Folken."

"I know. I'm not very good at that sometimes, am I?" Folken smiled, closing his eyes. "But that's why I have you two back to watch out for me."

"Right!"

"Good night, girls."

"Good night."

* * *

A set of icy claws clicked on the floor of Adelphos's floating fortress, though no one could hear them. Needlelike teeth gnashed and a whiplike tail lashed at the air, though no one could see it. The beast jumped into the air on transparent wings like frosted leather, gliding down to the bridge, where it landed with an inaudible clatter before the bridge viewport.

"What he loves," it hissed, eyes roaming across the gray-armoured soldiers, "what he loves is not here." It leapt up onto a bank of controls, peering unnoticed into a gray-masked face. "But what he hates!" It grinned toothily. "He will get what he hates!"

Outside, a chill wind rose, and the floating fortress began to drift toward Palas.

* * *

Dilandau trailed his fingers over the smooth surface of his diadem. The cold metal felt as though it had never been taken apart. His fingers couldn't find any seams. It felt heavier than he remembered, though.

One of Folken's cat-women—Naria, the silver one, he guessed, she had a slightly lower voice—had delivered it in person the day before. With instructions.

The stone was red now, if he absolutely had to know, because it was an energist. Folken had taken a red energist—the highest quality of energists—smashed it into pieces, and filed it down until it had the same shape as the old purple stone. That small bit of energy powered the new device that Folken had built into the diadem. It would still monitor his vital signs, as before—though this time he would know that it was doing so. Among other things.

Sitting cross-legged on his bed—and hopefully alone—Dilandau slid his fingers through his hair until he found the diadem's back edge. According to Naria, Folken had hidden a button that would—yes, there. He pressed the tiny button in with his fingernail and held it down, speaking softly to the air.

"Strategos?"

"I can hear you," Folken's voice buzzed by his ear.

"I had no idea that you could make these radios this small."

"I've been working on the technology. How are things in Palas?"

Dilandau told him about persuading Hitomi to read him the story, and the all-too-coincidental parallels he had drawn. "This woman, Hitomi—she says she has a red pendant with some strange powers. You think there's any connection?"

"Not to Daedalus. They've had a relatively mundane history in comparison with other countries."

"Well, there's nothing mundane about this woman. She managed to cast a shadow over Zaibach's future, didn't she?"

"I don't think we need to worry about that future much anymore."

_If only!_ "Weird things happen when she touches me, Folken. She healed the dragon bite."

"Really?" Folken sounded surprised, even with his voice distorted by the radio. "That is an unusual turn. And your eyes?"

"She couldn't fix that. But when she tried—I don't know what happened. I saw something."

"Saw something?"

"Or experienced—or had?" Dilandau wasn't certain how to describe it. He had not just watched; he had participated. "Had a vision, maybe? Of another woman."

"Related to the story in some way?"

"No, no, that's the strange part. I haven't gotten to talk to her much, but she doesn't have much to do with anything—except that she's in my head. Some blonde woman named Celena." Dilandau winced as Folken gasped loudly in his ear. "What, you know her? Strategos?" The static and background noise from the tiny radio cut off. Dilandau could only assume that it meant that Folken had left. "Thanks a lot," he muttered.

He heard the doorknob turn, but no footsteps. "Dilandau?" Hitomi asked hesitantly, her voice coming from the doorway. "May I come in?"

He snatched up the blindfold and tied it back around his head. "Yeah, come in."

"We're going out to the bazaar. Princess Millerna wants to invite you to come with us."

Dilandau screwed up his face. "A bazaar? Thanks, but no thanks."

"Oh." Hitomi sighed. "I think Van was hoping you'd come. Allen has to stay behind to talk with the king, and Van's probably going to get bored."

"Then why go?" Dilandau laced his fingers behind his head and flopped back on his bed, crossing his feet at his ankles.

"Because he's learning how to be a gentleman! Nyah!"

"Then he'll need all his concentration," Dilandau taunted. "I'm not interested in learning how to be gentle. Go on, shoo."

Hitomi's light footsteps crossed the room, and a hard finger prodded him in the shoulder.

"Yeow!" Dilandau jumped up and slapped her hand away.

"Come on, some fresh air might be good for you."

"We'd have to go a long way out of Palas for that, wouldn't we?" Dilandau retorted. Hitomi poked him again.

"Come on."

"No."

Poke poke. "Come on!"

"No!"

Poke poke. "Come on!"

"All right, all right!" Dilandau growled. Damn persistent woman! He had hardly pulled his boots on before she was dragging him out the door.

"Remind me why we had to come?" Dilandau muttered under his breath.

"Beats the hell out of me," Van muttered back. "How'd Allen manage to weasel his way out of it?"

"Hey, this isn't exactly a day at the beach for me, either!" Hitomi hissed. Dilandau gave her hand on his arm a hard pinch.

"You little snot! You played us off each other so that you wouldn't have to come here with the princess alone!"

Hitomi laughed sheepishly. "You found me out." She elbowed him in the ribs, hard. "Do that to me again and I'll leave you at an intersection and let you find your way back on your own."

"Not without creating an international incident, you won't," he replied. "You don't scare me."

Van stopped walking abruptly—Hitomi led Dilandau straight into his back. "Watch it!" Dilandau snapped. The humiliation they were putting him through! He was glad he couldn't see himself right now.

"Dilandau," Van began, his voice wary, "I just noticed that there are two floating fortresses in the sky. Why are there two?"

"Beats the hell out of me. One of them had better be the Vione."

"It is."

Hitomi plucked at Dilandau's sleeve. "I have a bad feeling about that other fortress, you two."

"What does it look like?" Dilandau asked.

"It's got this creepy face on the side—"

"Adelphos!" Dilandau interrupted. The Red Copper general was back? He was supposed to be long gone back to Zaibach! Why was _every single person_ in the world out to make his life more difficult?

"Hitomi, Millerna's gone off without us," Van said softly. Hitomi squeaked.

"Aw, great! How are we going to find her in this crowd?"

"I was thinking that we could ditch her and go back to the palace—oof!" Van grunted as, judging by the sound of leather on leather, Hitomi's foot came down on top of his. Dilandau smirked.

"You have no manners sometimes!" Hitomi cried.

"—go back to the palace and find out why there's another fortress here," Van finished. "No offense," he told Dilandau, "but I still don't trust Zaibach."

"Even _I_ wouldn't trust Adelphos half as far as I could throw him," Dilandau spat. "I wish something would take him out like the Sorcerers!'

"Why, Commander Albatou! That's a horrid thing to wish for your commanding officer!" a familiar voice boomed.

Dilandau groaned. "Not him, not here. What's he doing in a bazaar? If we leave now—" But Hitomi had already turned Dilandau around to face General Adelphos. "He knows I can't see him. Let's get out of here—"

"You may be on medical leave, boy, but that doesn't give you the authority to ignore me!"

Dilandau sighed. No fighting it. "Good afternoon, General Adelphos," he growled. "If you'll excuse me, my companions and I need to catch up with the princess."

"I don't like his face," Van murmured to Hitomi. "There's something strange about it."

"I know what you mean."

"I had intended to be well away from you by now," Adelphos continued, "but this cold front has pushed my fortress in and disrupted the levistones."

"Pity."

"I know what it is," Van continued. "His face is pale. He looks cold."

_Cold?_

"Keep an eye on him," Dilandau instructed softly. "Like Hitomi said, something feels strange."

"Right."

"To answer your question," Adelphos finished smugly, "how could I spend this much time in Palas without visiting my daughter?"

Dilandau made a grand show of retching—only half-faked. He had a vague idea of Adelphos having a matron of a wife somewhere, but the thought of the man actually reproducing was too much. "What are you trying to pull? You don't have any children. You've always taken every chance you can get to remind me that you hate them!"

"Is that the woman with him, then?" Hitomi whispered.

"Must be," Van replied.

"Of course you wouldn't remember her—you've never met. Verrine, meet Dilandau Albatou, the Zaibach Army's biggest waste."

A female voice giggled at Adelphos's side. "He does look lazy, doesn't he, Father?"

Dilandau knew that voice. He had never heard it speak so clearly, but he knew that voice. "Jay."


	26. Chapter 26: Scholar

**A/N:** Hear me out, at least this time I have a very good excuse for not updating for three months. On December 29, while driving home, Crazed Authoress Sakura was hit head-on by a drug dealer who was running from the police up the wrong side of the road. She was released from the hospital very late that night (or very early the next morning) with a broken collarbone, fractured wrist, and bruised kidneys. It's very hard to write when you can't even sit up on your own.  
I'm doing much better now—back at school, living in the dorm by myself—but I'm still trying to get back on my feet, figuratively speaking. A full load of high-level university classes and lots of doctor/lawyer appointments hasn't left much time for writing for fun.  
Hopefully, things will not get any worse, and from now on I will be back to my usual schedule of slowness. (Perhaps I can speed it up while I'm recovering from surgery in May.)

I'd also like everyone to know that I have resisted the temptation to tie the plot in to Arthurian legend! It would have been sooooo easy, the geography would have worked out perfectly. It's too overdone, but if you're feeling adventurous, Google Avalonia.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 26 – Scholar**

Hitomi took some comfort in Van's confused expression. At least she wasn't the only one. And Van seemed to agree that it was best not to interrupt Dilandau; they stood behind the Zaibach soldier and watched him argue with Adelphos and Verrine. Zaibach seemed like a strict country. How could Dilandau get away with talking to his commanding general like that? _There must be a history here that I don't know,_ Hitomi reasoned.

The bad feeling that had been lingering about for the past few days had gotten worse. Strangely, she sensed a warning about the daughter, not the general that Dilandau seemed to hate. Verrine, was it? But Dilandau had called her Jay, even though Adelphos claimed that the two had never met. She didn't look a thing like her father, with black ringlets bouncing around her shoulders and wide violet eyes. Hitomi would have put her at around Allen's age—maybe a year or two older—but that frothy, white dress made her seem much younger. More like a child. Just a wisp of a girl, but Hitomi could practically feel waves of hatred boiling from Dilandau.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander Albatou." Verrine offered a dainty curtsey. "Tell me, my lord, what sort of things do you like?"

"I like it when pompous generals and weird bitches leave me alone," Dilandau spat.

"Oh, but we couldn't do that!" Verrine looped an arm through Adelphos's. "I know you enjoy my father's company, so, since he seems to be stuck in Palas for now, we had to come find you."

"You've found me, now leave. I have things to do."

_This Verrine is acting very strange,_ Hitomi thought. _The general seems like he's just following whatever she wants. Is he a doting father, or is there something else going on? Dilandau obviously thinks she's not even his daughter._

"As much as I'd hate to have you back on the Vione, your mother's not that bad, and she's worried sick about you," Dilandau told Verrine. "Folken, too."

"Nonsense!" Adelphos waved him off. "You've never met my wife!"

Verrine shot a glare at Adelphos, and for a moment his brown eyes sparkled blue. "Don't make things harder than they already are," she hissed.

Hitomi grabbed Van's arm. "She's brainwashed him." She tried to whisper it, but Verrine heard; her eyes narrowed in quite an un-childlike manner. "I don't know what's going on, but she's controlling his—" Flash. "Get down!"

Van and Dilandau dropped to the ground with Hitomi as an icy claw slashed through the air where their heads had been. The nearly-transparent dragon crashed down to the ground, its thick tail sweeping away a flower stand. Hitomi would have sworn that she heard a giggle and a fading "—ra!" on the wind.

"What kind of dragon is _that?_" Van yelped.

"How should _I_ know?" Hitomi shouted.

Dilandau's head swung back and forth as, crouching on the ground, he tried to use his ears to figure out what was going on. "The air's gotten so cold, just now," he said to himself.

"Van! Can you take care of the dragon?" Hitomi called. Van jerked his sword out of its sheath in affirmation.

"You get somewhere and leave this to me!"

People screamed and fled, choking the streets—some even jumped into the canals to swim away from the dragon. Hitomi caught Dilandau's arm and dragged him to his feet, through the crowd to an alley, sheltered by the toppled shade-cover of a stand. _I can still see from here,_ she thought, _and maybe I'll be able to help Van._

"Describe what's going on," Dilandau told her, his back pressed against the damp, stone wall. Hitomi peered around the corner.

"Van's fighting some sort of dragon—it looks like it's made out of ice." A red light glowed at its heart; Hitomi assumed that it was an energist.

"Mountain dragon," Dilandau told her calmly. "I fought one once. They're damn smart. Watch out for the breath."

_Flash._ "Van, to the right!" Hitomi screamed. Van dove left as the mountain dragon reared back and blew a gust of freezing wind where he had been. Frost skittered across the top of the canal. Van gave one of the dragon's foreclaws an experimental hack, and the blade bounced off.

"So these are armoured too," Hitomi heard him say.

_Flash._ "Above you!" Hitomi called. Van leapt back, and the dragon's tail smashed into the paving-stones.

"I hate this," Dilandau muttered, clenching a fist. "I hate being helpless!" Hitomi glanced back at him—and did a double-take. A single flame, like a tiny comet, traced a halo of light in the air around Dilandau's head. He turned and slammed a fist into the wall, leaving a blackened handprint on the stone. "I hate this!" he screamed.

Hitomi stared. She could feel waves of warmth radiating from him. _What's going on?_

The dragon screamed as Van's sword found a soft spot in its side. Hitomi whirled around as Van jerked his sword free and the dragon's whipping tail caught him full in the back. He flew forward and tumbled into the canal, bouncing on its frozen surface.

"Van!" Hitomi cried. _I have to help him! I have to do something! But what can I do?_

The dragon reared back and spat another gout of icy air, this time directly at Dilandau. Hitomi threw up her arms in reflex, and her pendant burst into brilliant red light. A tongue of flame shot down from the sky, intercepting the dragon's breath; the two elements joined and shattered into a scattering of droplets of water that pattered harmlessly to the ground.

Hitomi smelled something burning. She looked back to Dilandau.

The red jewel in his diadem glowed too, just like her pendant. With each pass that orbiting flame made past his eyes, wisps of smoke rose from the blindfold, until finally it caught fire. Hitomi gasped and reached out to put out the flames, but drew her hand back when she saw that Dilandau's skin remained untouched. Bits of charred cloth dropped to the ground. Dilandau was not in pain. He was very, very angry.

"I hate it," he growled. "I hate being so weak!"

Hitomi stared at the glowing, red light that filled the air, at the orbiting flame. "How do I kill it?" she asked.

"The same as any other dragon," he answered. "In the heart."

Hitomi set her jaw. Yes, she could. "Then lend me your power," she told him. She seized the hilt of his sword with both hands and pulled it out. _Ah! It's lighter than I thought!_

Hitomi turned to face the dragon. _I can do this. I have to do this. I don't have to be stronger than it. Just faster._ She dropped down into a runner's stance, gripping Dilandau's sword in one hand, setting her feet in gaps between the cobblestones. _And I am fast!_

Hitomi exploded forward as Van clambered up from the canal. The dragon lowered its head with a growl, icicle teeth waiting, eyeing her.

The blade of the sword burst into flame. Van lunged forward and caught Hitomi's hands in his, adding his strength to her speed. Together they thrust the point of the sword into the dragon's eye. Steaming and sizzling, the blade kept going. They pushed forward, cutting a dripping line down the dragon's sinuous neck, down to the dragon's heart. Pulsing violently, the red energist shattered when the blade touched it, sending sharp red shards flying.

The dragon collapsed as water, nearly washing Van and Hitomi away. Van caught Hitomi around the waist and grabbed hold of the canals' railing with his free arm, holding tight until the water drained away.

Hitomi jumped to her feet and scanned the street, but Adelphos and Verrine had vanished. "What was all that about?" she panted, scraping wet hair out of her face.

"I don't know," Van answered, recovering his sword from the ground.

Hitomi scrambled to the alley where she had left Dilandau. Leaning against the wall, he seemed unhurt but tired. Water made puddles between the cobblestones at his feet, but the blind swordsman was not wet. Rather, steam rose from his body; Hitomi could already see dry patches on his clothes. His uncovered red eyes looked worried and confused.

"Are you all right?" Hitomi asked him, pleased that her voice did not waver. More and more, these strange things did not seem so strange anymore.

"I'm fine." He sounded a bit shaken, but Hitomi believed him. "Van?"

"Drenched but fine," Van interjected, joining them. He silently passed Dilandau's sword over; Dilandau kept it bared at his side.

"And Adelphos?" he continued, pale eyebrows knitting together in a frown that surprised Hitomi with its sudden fierceness. Coupled with his red eyes—even though they didn't focus on anything—his face looked cruel.

"I don't see him anywhere," she answered. "Van?" Van shook his head.

"Has that bad feeling gone away yet?" Van asked. Dilandau turned his face to Hitomi as she thought.

"No," she finally answered. "But it's not as strong. I think it has something to do with Adelphos and Verrine. I don't like this." At least Dryden would arrive tomorrow, and then they could get some answers. Hopefully. Dilandau seemed to think that the weather would delay Dryden, and Hitomi did not entirely disagree.

"Adelphos is one of the biggest bastards ever to come out of Zaibach," Dilandau muttered. A wave of heat rolled off of him angrily, and the last damp spots vanished in a final cloud of hot steam. "And Jay—I don't even know what's wrong with _her_ anymore."

Hitomi frowned. "Why do you keep calling her that?" Adelphos had quite clearly introduced her as Verrine. Dilandau shook his head, and Van touched her elbow, signaling her to leave it.

The crowd in the bazaar had begun to trickle back, not daring yet to enter the area that the dragon had rampaged. They made a border around the edges, toeing the puddles and whispering, pointing to the trio in the middle of it all. Princess Millerna burst from that border and ran to them, the pretense of royal dignity forgotten. "Van! Hitomi!" she cried, "Commander Albatou! What's happened here?"

"You don't want to know, Princess," Dilandau told her gravely. The strange heat coming from his skin had cooled, and the wind had brushed the last ashes of the blindfold from his shoulders. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

Hitomi did. But, she wasn't entirely certain whether knowing what in the world was going on was a matter of "want" or "can".

ooooo

Folken tore off the headset he wore, the tiny speakers in his ears and the microphone near his mouth that would keep his conversations with Dilandau private. He jabbed a finger at the button on the wall that would disconnect them. He knew that Dilandau would forgive him for cutting the conversation off. He leapt to his feet with such urgency that his chair clattered over on its side. The headset fell on the floor. He hoped it didn't break. No matter.

Folken bounded out the laboratory door and nearly flew down the stairs, sprinting down to his bedroom. He should have left the files on Dilandau and Celena in the laboratory. He'd taken them to his room to study at his leisure. Should have left them where they were.

The blue-flamed lamp on his desk sprang to life as he turned the knob at its base. He scrabbled for the shadowgraph of Celena. There. He held it to the light, staring at it in horror.

"Some blonde woman named Celena," Dilandau had said. Folken had never mentioned Celena to Dilandau before.

"They wanted to change her fate," Folken said softly. He had started shaking. He didn't realize it until he heard his mechanical hand rattling against the desktop.

He hadn't considered the possibility before. No High Artisan would do such a horrible thing. But the Sorcerers—now that he looked for it, little Celena Schezar's face looked very familiar. He had gotten so very used to that mouth, those eyes, that hair—on Dilandau.

"She's Dilandau," Folken breathed. Still staring wide-eyed at the picture, he groped for his chair and nearly fell into it. "They wanted to change her fate, and they turned her into Dilandau."

Did Emperor Dornkirk know about this? Folken had never approved of the Sorcerers experimenting on children, but he had been overruled. But this—this—

Little Celena Schezar had not simply had her body changed from female to male. If she had, Dilandau couldn't have talked to her. No, her very soul had been pushed away—where did it go?—and replaced with Dilandau's—and where had he come from? Unless Dilandau had developed multiple personalities—Folken did not rule it out, but he knew in his heart it wasn't so—little Celena Schezar had been replaced, body and soul, by someone else.

Or had she? Were these two souls sharing one body? Or did Celena have a new body somewhere? Was she merely a fragment of Dilandau? Dilandau a fragment of her?

"This is too much!" Folken curled his mechanical hand into a fist and slammed it down on the desktop, jolting the lamp and leaving a dent amid the papers. "This isn't what you were supposed to use it for!" he cried. How could they go so far? Tamper to such lengths with a _soul_, in the name of research—but what had they learned from it all? What did they gain from creating Dilandau? The perfect soldier? No, Dilandau wasn't even tractable. The means to change a person's fate? What had they even _meant_ by that in the first place?

Useless, useless words!

Maybe the High Artisans were right. In the Mystic Valley, Folken's teachers had always stressed that the power to manipulate Fate should not be given to Drifters, who were not born to it. Those not born able to control their own fates could not be trusted with the fates of others, either. Folken had given the Sorcerers the ability to change Fate—only a small part, a tenth of a tenth of what Folken could do—and they had abused it far beyond what Folken had ever conceived. Maybe—

No. That wasn't entirely right, either. Every man should at least be allowed control over his _own_ destiny. Dilandau was as real a person as Celena Schezar had once been. To get rid of him to restore Celena Schezar to her body would be just as bad as what the Sorcerers had done.

Folken sat back in his chair with a soft sigh, surveying all the papers scattered across the desk. Problems that the Strategos needed to rectify. Problems of a country that was slipping from its place in the Strategos's heart. He'd thought that, perhaps, if he waited and worked patiently, he could use the power of Dornkirk's Atlantis Machine to deter the Everlasting Frost. Now he knew better.

For each action, an opposite reaction. Such was the law upon which the universe turned. Tamper with Destiny too much, and it would rebound. Shays, who altered Fate to solve anything that inconvenienced him, was now facing his reaction. Soon, Zaibach would face the reaction that would inevitably rebound upon the Sorcerers and Dornkirk. And independent of that, the Everlasting Frost still approached.

And Folken had a decision to make.

Folken did not smile. He had already decided, hadn't he? But still, he could not smile at ten years of work coming to nothing.

Dilandau would have made a mess, Folken thought, had Dilandau been in the same situation. He would have swept all the papers to the floor and smashed a lamp on them with a victorious shriek.

Folken separated the information about Dilandau and Celena, stacking it away neatly. He would need it.

He lifted the glass cover off his desk lamp, set it aside carefully, and touched the first sheet of paper to the hissing blue flame. Orange light leapt across the walls as it caught; another followed it, and soon bits of ash and charred paper fluttered through the air, scattering across the floor. Greasy smoke left streaks across his mechanical hand; flares of pungent ink burned his nose as he fed papers into the flame, burning his life away, growing the pile of ash.

Ashes could look just like snow, sometimes.

When the last warm flame crumbled in upon itself, Folken stared at the scattered ashes with a small frown. It was all symbolic, of course. He had literally thousands of papers aboard the Vione, he could not afford the time to burn them all. He would leave that to Dilandau. A get-well gift.

Those papers had merely contained the things he needed to do as Strategos. They were gone. As soon as he stood, he would have more duties, but for now, sitting at his desk, he had no responsibilities.

Folken stood.

There were always more responsibilities. He had made his own tasks before, and he would make them again now. Perhaps he could rebuild upon what he had knocked down these last ten years.

He took Dilandau and Celena's files and turned the lamps all the way down, so that their flames disappeared and their hissing ceased. He did not hesitate has he slid the door shut behind him, the soft draft of air scattering ashes soundlessly across the floor.

ooooo

"Hmm." Dryden peered even closer at the little storybook in his hands, so close that his hair brushed across the pages. "Hmm."

_Fifty-three_, Hitomi counted, _fifty-four_. She wished that he would stop _hmm_-ing and say something!

"Aha!" Dryden exclaimed, throwing a hand up in the air. _Well, I suppose that is something..._ Everyone in the room jumped, even Allen, who shot a poorly-disguised glare at Dryden. "I need a map!" Dryden whirled on Van, whose arms were full of rolled maps. Van dumped them on the table, but his hands hovered over the paper and parchment tubes, prepared to select one for Dryden's use. "Of the Mystic Moon!" Dryden finished.

"I don't think the palace has any maps of the Mystic Moon," Millerna began. Van cast a discouraged glance at the pile of maps.

"That's all right," Dryden assured her, "I'll just sketch one out." Looking defeated, Van spread a clean roll of paper out for him on the table. Dryden studied it a moment with his brow furrowed thoughtfully, and began to draw.

"Just sketch it from memory?" Hitomi heard Van mutter skeptically. "What a useless skill."

"You're just jealous because you can't do it too," Hitomi teased, sticking her tongue out. Van straightened defensively.

"I can too! Well, Fanelia, anyway."

Hitomi blinked. "Really?"

Dryden finished outlining two large landmasses and began on squiggly lines which Hitomi assumed were main rivers. He stepped back to survey his work, but Hitomi peered at it closer. It just didn't look like any country she knew. Dryden had taken on an excited air—not like a teacher lecturing, more like a child about to chatter about something new he'd learned in school. _He probably doesn't get to talk about this stuff too often._

"Now, the area we're interested in is around here." Dryden pointed to the top landmass he had drawn—relatively small, but probably enough to count as a little continent in its own right. "This country is known to the people of the Mystic Moon as Avalonia."

_Avalonia?_ "Um," Hitomi began, but Dryden pushed aside his first map and started another, Avalonia in greater detail.

"I'm not entirely certain what language this book is in, but it's surely native to this region." A series of triangles made a mountain chain across the center of the map.

"Does any of this look familiar, Hitomi?" Allen asked. Hitomi shook her head slowly.

"Doesn't look like any map I've seen."

"Don't worry, we'll get it!" Dryden bent over the second map, sketching in more details—forests, moors, even a few dots for cities, though he couldn't name them from memory.

"Show-off," Hitomi heard Allen mutter under his breath. "He's so caught up in this, it's embarrassing."

"I don't think he's trying to show off," Hitomi told him softly. "I think he's just honestly enthusiastic."

"How are we going to figure out where the book came from if he's drawing an incomprehensible map?" Allen replied. Hitomi let out a sigh and shook her head. Knight Caeli or not, Allen could be so moody sometimes! Just like Van. But taller. And with...hair. Yeah...hair.

"Do you think you might be able to help him along, Hitomi?" Van asked. "Like when you helped Allen find me on the Vione?"

"I guess I can try," Hitomi told him doubtfully. That time, she'd had visions that pointed them in the right direction. She hadn't actually had to do anything much. But it was worth a try!

Dryden had paused, scratching his stubble of a beard and muttering something about bogs. The quill stuck out from behind his ear, and a drop of ink trickled down his neck. Millerna twisted her skirts next to him, managing a pained look of interest.

Hitomi elbowed Dryden out of the way with a "'scuse me" and held out her pendant over the makeshift map. It really wasn't all that bad a map, considering how hastily it had been drawn. If only she could make some sense of it!

_Point me to something I'll recognize,_ Hitomi commanded, swinging the pendant across the map.

Dryden immediately silenced, watching her with interest. "Ah, pendulum dowsing?" he asked. "I haven't seen a serious practitioner of that outside of Freid in years! Ever since Zaibach started exporting those measuring instruments. Mind if I take a few notes later, missy?"

"No problem," Hitomi replied. All right, so Dryden was a little annoying, but she found his openness a refreshing change after Allen's stuffy politeness. A bit like Dilandau without the venom.

_Point me to something I'll recognize,_ she repeated in her mind. _Point me to something—there!_ Her hand went down to the map. Dryden whipped the quill back out and had a circle drawn around her fingertip before she could blink.

"Of course!" Dryden exclaimed. "Yes, this explains the language. Why didn't I see it before? Cymraeg. Humans, fair hair, pale skin." He dropped his voice. "Draconians, dark hair. Call them Derwydd, though. Known to be very good at healing and scrying. Lots of danger from the cold, up there, especially near the mountains."

"That fits the story," Hitomi agreed. "But in this story, they got rid of all the ice creatures." Dryden folded his arms.

"Well, it _has_ been a long time since anyone has done any real studies of the Mystic Moon," he mused. "But continents don't exactly move, do they?" he asked, laughing. Hitomi coughed politely.

"Actually, they do."

"Nonsense!" Dryden waved the correction away. "How could that much solid rock move somewhere?"

Hitomi groaned. How many thousands of years old was the map that Dryden had just drawn?

"What relevance does any of this have?" Allen interrupted. Dryden abruptly grew serious and fixed Allen with a scholarly stare, one hand adjusting his glasses.

"None at all."

A pause. "_Whaat?"_ Allen exploded. "Have you been joking around this whole time? This may be a children's book, but we're talking about a very serious matter!"

"I'm just kidding!" Dryden guffawed, doubling over and slapping the table with laughter. One of the inkwells bounced and nearly toppled over. "You should have seen your faces!" He pulled off his glasses and wiped tears of mirth away on his sleeve. "Come on, even serious things you can't take too seriously."

Allen clenched his teeth, turned where he stood, and strode stiffly out of the room. Dryden let out a long sign, replacing his glasses. "Man, that guy needs to lighten up." He shook his head. "What we've learned is the region of Atlantis that book—" he pointed at it, lying on the table—"came from."

"What do we do now?" Millerna asked. "What good does that do?"

"If stories are based on real things," Hitomi suggested, "maybe we could figure out what happened in Atlantis that made them write this story?" Dryden grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

"Bingo, missy."

"Nobody has that kind of information, though," Van mused. "Not even Fanelia."

"Dryden's a Mystic Moon scholar!" Millerna asserted. "You have that information, right?"

Dryden shook his head. "But I know where we can get it. It's a well-guarded secret, but there is a repository of knowledge that the Draconians themselves put on Gaia."

"Where is it?" Hitomi asked, growing excited. At last, they were getting somewhere!

"The great treasure of the Duchy of Freid." Dryden unrolled a map of Gaia with a sharp snap and pointed. "The Power Spot."

Millerna gasped, but Van looked only mildly bewildered. Well, Millerna's sister had been married to the Duke of Freid; it made sense that she would know more about the duchy than Van.

"We'll never get permission to access the Power Spot!" Millerna breathed.

"I think I can make a strong case, especially with you and the King here," Dryden assured her. Van smacked a fist in his palm.

"And if you can't, we'll force our way in! It's not like we're going to steal anything, after all."

"Didn't you hear him?" Hitomi elbowed Van. "He said it's heavily guarded, genius!"

"So was the Vione!" Van retorted. "How heavily guarded?"

"Approximately five hundred fighting monks," Millerna answered.

Van cringed. "That is heavily guarded!"

For some reason, Hitomi thought of Dilandau. "If we need it," she said slowly, "I think we know who can raise a little hell for us."

**-La Ra Everlasting Frost Mini-Adventure #2: Infomercial-**

There was a #1, you had to know there'd be more following, right? Since everyone's been asking about Merle, here she is.

(Cue laboratory scene. Van walks on wearing a bow tie along with his normal Gaian clothes. Hitomi joins him with a laboratory coat over her school uniform.)

**Van:** "Hello! I'm Van—"

**Hitomi:** "And I'm Hitomi!"

**Van:** "—and we're here to talk to you today about Burn-it-Kleen, the amazing new stain remover that will change your life!"

(Hitomi brandishes a bottle shaped like a super-deformed, angry Dilandau.)

**Hitomi:** "For the first time ever outside of Zaibach, this stuff is imported straight from the producer!"

**Van:** "Guaranteed to remove any stain!"

**Hitomi:** "Let's hear a testimony from one of our satisfied customers!"

(Cue battlefield scene. Allen Schezar cuts down a generic minion and turns to the camera.)

**Allen:** "As one of the Heavenly Knights of Asturia, I'm expected to keep my uniform clean at all times! Those pesky blood stains can be hard to get out! That's why I only use Burn-it-Kleen! It gets my uniform looking like new without affecting the expensive blue dye! I'll never use anything but Burn-it-Kleen again!"

(Allen grins and holds up a bottle of Burn-it-Kleen.)

(Return to the laboratory scene.)

**Hitomi:** "Wasn't that amazing? If you can't believe a Knight Caeli, who can you trust?"

**Van:** "It sure was. But, if that professional testimony wasn't good enough, we'll demonstrate Burn-it-Kleen right before your very eyes!"

(Merle, wearing a paw-print necktie over her normal dress, wheels a stove onscreen. A bottle of Burn-it-Kleen boils in a pot. Steam rises from Dilandau's head.)

**Hitomi:** "Everyone, please welcome Merle!"

**Van:** "What have you got for us today, Merle?"

**Merle:** "That fire that burned down Fanelia sure was nasty. I'm having a terrible time cleaning up the palace! The ashes just don't want to come out of these royal curtains!"

(Merle holds up a dirty curtain)

**Merle:** "What can I do?"

**Hitomi:** "We recommend the power of Burn-it-Kleen with steam!"

(Hitomi plucks the bottle out of the pot and rubs Dilandau's head on the curtain. Van turns to the camera.)

**Van:** "Now, you can use Burn-it-Kleen dry, but its amazing cleaning formula is even more effective when activated with steam!"

(Van turns the camera back to Merle and Hitomi, who are now holding a completely pristine curtain.)

**Merle:** "Wow! That's amazing! Burn-it-Kleen got all the ashes out!"

**Hitomi:** "Call now to order your own six-month supply of Burn-it-Kleen for only three easy payments of fifty gidaru!"

**Merle:** "Wow, that's really cheap!"

(Van leans into the camera.)

**Van:** "But that's not all! If you call within the next ten minutes, we'll throw in an extra month's supply, absolutely free!"

**Hitomi:** "Still not enough? We'll also include a soft-'n'-fluffy bathrobe, a fifteen gidaru value, absolutely free! You heard me, free!"

**Merle:** "What an amazing deal!"

(Van and Hitomi hold up their bottles. Merle holds up the curtain.)

**Group:** "Burn-it-Kleen, for all your stain removal needs!"


	27. Chapter 27: Mystic Eyes

A/N: I was inspired to put aside my schoolwork for enough time to finish this chapter by this AMV: http colon //uk dot youtube dot com slash watch?vYybd4dKgKeg Change the spelled-out punctuation into real punctuation and go watch it. (This is necessary to sneak it past Fanfiction dot net's text filters.) NOW. Seriously. It's beautiful. I cry every time I watch it. No joke  
If you want a soundtrack to go with this chapter, loop Celtus' "Pilgrim" and Enigma's "Return to Innocence" during the first and third story-breaks, and "EPISTLE" from the Escaflowne soundtrack during the second.  
Also, please think of "Separate Ways" by Journey as Dilandau's current theme song. Somebody should make an AMV.

**La Ra Everlasting Frost  
Chapter 28 – Mystic Eyes**

When the knock sounded at the door to his borrowed room, Dilandau ignored it. Folken had cut out in the middle of their last conversation, and he wanted to be alone in case the Strategos tried to contact him again. He hadn't been able to get Folken at all. What was so important that it couldn't wait?

Scratch that thought. It could be answered by too many things to list.

The knocking continued, and he adjusted the storybook that lay open on his face, as though he had fallen asleep reading at the window-seat. He still couldn't see it, of course, but such behaviors seemed to make everyone less uptight around him. They let their tongues loose more easily. That, and he didn't have to put as much concentration into feigning a nap if nobody could see his face.

The knocking stopped, and the door scraped open. He had done that himself—pulled on it in the middle of the night, bending the hinges just enough so that the door scraped open against the carpet. Now nobody could sneak up on him.

"Dilandau?" Hitomi called in a loud whisper. Leaving the door open, she tiptoed across the room, and the book eased gently off his face. "Dilandau? Can you see that?" she asked excitedly.

"Osmosis. I no longer need to see." Dilandau knocked her hand away and shut the book with a loud snap.

"Geez! You had my hopes up there!"

"I was never much for books even when I could see." Dilandau drew his legs in, then stretched them back out once he was certain that Hitomi had sat down on the other end of the window seat. Hitomi shoved his legs off her lap.

"Eew! Keep your nasty feet to yourself!"

"Get off my windowsill!" Dilandau retorted, reaching back to adjust a pillow behind his head. "Besides, I'm wearing shoes."

"Yeah, two different shoes. And you stepped in something gross."

"I only have one pair of shoes, moron." Dilandau jerked the pillow out and tossed it at Hitomi's head. He heard a _poof_ as it hit the window, a clack as the unlatched window opened, and silence as the pillow sailed away. "Damn. Look what you made me do." Dilandau settled back and kicked off his shoes, stretching his legs out once more. "What do you want, anyway?"

"To tell you that we're leaving for Freid. Dryden says they have records from Atlantis that we might be able to use. If they'll let us. We're hoping you'll come along."

"Of course I'm coming! I have more to do with this than any of you do!"

"Do you need to get permission from anyone?"

"As if that's ever stopped me!" Dilandau cackled. He opened the storybook and replaced it on his face. "Technically I'm on leave for injury and can do whatever I want. But I'll let the Strategos know where I'm going so that you all don't get arrested for kidnapping me." He shuddered, just slightly. "Anything to get where Adelphos isn't."

Hitomi folded her hands atop his shins and said nothing. Dilandau wondered why she didn't leave. Certainly she had better things to do than serve as his footrest? Well, maybe not. It was quite an honour. _She must want something else,_ he thought with a yawn, growing drowsy from the sun and warm breeze flowing in through the open window.

He drifted into semi-consciousness, not noticing that the white light filling his vision had begun to move, not until a pair of large, blue eyes blinked at him. _What the...?_ The light pulled away from a face—delicate, with blonde curls—and the woman smiled serenely at him. He had seen her before, that time that Hitomi had put her hands over his eyes.

"Celena?" he ventured. She'd said that was her name, right?

"I've been waiting for you, Dilandau!" Celena pushed an arm forward, climbing through a wall of light. When at last her whole body emerged, Dilandau saw that she wore a golden chain around her neck—delicate and loose, like jewelry, but the end snaked back and disappeared into the light. Curious, Dilandau looked down and found a cord of golden silk around his own neck, trailing behind him until he could no longer see it.

"What are these?" he asked.

"They connect us to our bodies," Celena replied. he gave his cord an experimental tug.

"Not very sturdy."

"Not supposed to be." Celena plucked the cord away from his fingers and took his hands in hers. "It's been a long time, Dilandau!"

She had a captivating smile. There weren't any shadows here, only light, and her blue eyes sparkled like—like the summer sky, but deeper.

"Do I know you?" Dilandau asked, distracted by her eyes.

"You've known me a long time," Celena replied.

"Where's your body?"

"It's not really my body."

"Not what I asked."

Celena twisted the golden chain in her fingers. "Well, you have something of mine. Someone else gave it to you a long time ago—by accident, I think—and I was hoping that you might give it back now."

"What do you want?" Dilandau hazily tried to recall his possessions. He hadn't ever owned anything for more than a few years, and most of that belonged to the Zaibach army, anyway. What did he have that was worth anything? "My sword?"

Celena's eyes narrowed. "_My body!_" Her hands shot out and snatched the golden cord. Before he could move she had taken the chain from her neck and thrown it around Dilandau's own, pulling it tight. He managed a "Hey!" as she draped the cord around her own neck, smiled, and disappeared.

Hitomi peered at Dilandau. She couldn't decide if he had fallen asleep or not. He was awfully coherent for a sleep-talker, and she thought she'd heard the name "Celena."

Suddenly Dilandau jerked, rolling off the window seat and landing on the floor. He levered himself up to his hands and knees as a skin-crawling crunch, like bones breaking, split the air. Dilandau screamed, clutching his head in his hands, and as the cracking continued his figure—changed. His shoulders became less broad, his hips more round; a straw colour flowed into his hair from the roots.

"Dilandau!" Hitomi cringed back, wanting to help, but not even sure what was going on.

Panting, Dilandau climbed slowly to his feet. Hitomi reached out to touch his shoulders. "Dilandau?"

He slapped her hand away, and the eyes that glared down at her were blue. "Dilandau is a thief!" the woman spat. "I'm Celena! _Celena!_" And she turned and ran.

"What in the _world?_" Hitomi took off after Celena, out the door and down the hallway. Celena had gotten a good head start, though, and she was in good physical shape—but running was Hitomi's specialty. "Stop!" Hitomi called to Celena. "Stop, I won't hurt you!" Celena glanced back over her shoulder, growled, and ducked her head to barrel down the hallway faster. Hitomi narrowed her eyes and put on an extra burst of speed. "I want—to talk! I promise!"

Down the hallway the pattern of the floor-tiles changed, and Hitomi chose that as her target. Speeding up as she neared the line, she hurled herself forward, overtaking Celena and knocking the other woman to the floor. Celena tried to scramble away on all fours, but Hitomi tackled her down."

"Let me go!" Celena growled, flailing her arms and legs in attempt to free herself from Hitomi, who had latched on for dear life. It wouldn't work for long. Celena was bigger.

"I will if you don't run!"

"But I have to find Brother! He'll protect me!"

"Maybe I can help! Ever think of that?"

A pair of gloved hands seized Hitomi and hauled her into the air. "Hey!" she yelped. Celena sprang forward, but only to smash into the armoured knees of another palace guard. As the first man stumbled backwards, two more grabbed her arms and held her fast.

"Hey, let that one go." One of the guards motioned to Hitomi. "She's a friend of the princess." The man holding Hitomi set her back on her feet, and she straightened her dress, trying to regain some dignity. Not that she had much hope of that, not after they had caught her brawling on the floor.

"Is this woman intruding?" Another guard asked. (They all looked the same to Hitomi.) Hitomi opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. She didn't know the answer. She couldn't tell them that Celena was a guest, people didn't tackle their guests to the floor. But she didn't want them to throw Celena out, either.

"I—well--?"

"What's going on here?" Van shouldered his way through the guards, who stood nearly a head taller than him. "Hitomi?" he exclaimed, as the crowds parted for Dryden and a flustered-looking Allen. "What's wrong?"

Where to start? Hitomi cast a glance at Celena. "Um..."

She didn't need to go farther than that. Allen gasped behind her, and Celena started wriggling again. "Brother!" she cried. Startled, the guards holding her let go, and as Celena leapt forward, Allen caught her in a crushing hug.

"Celena!" he gasped. "You're alive!"

_I thought I'd heard that name before._ Hitomi could see the resemblance between the two plainly. She could see the resemblance between Celena and Dilandau even more plainly. _If Celena is Allen's sister,_ Hitomi wondered, _what does that make Dilandau? There's a strong connection between them, but they've never even seen each other, right?_

Hitomi climbed to her feet and looked to Van. "Dilandau turned into Celena," she said softly. Van's jaw dropped.

"He what?"

"I saw it," she told him. "There's a very strong connection between them, and I don't know what it is, but it feels like something important."

"I think I'd rather sort this out with Dilandau." Van cast a glance at Celena, who clung to her brother, sobbing. "How can we get him back?"

"When this happened, Dilandau fell asleep using me as a footrest. Maybe I just need to touch her, while she's vulnerable," Hitomi suggested. Van nodded his agreement.

"Try it." Walking carefully up to Allen, Hitomi reached out and took firm hold of Celena's arm. Celena's face went blank. She tore herself out of Allen's arms, doubling over, clutching at her head. She screamed as bone shifted with loud crunches, as her shoulders grew broader, her hips more solid, and all the colour drained out of her hair.

Dilandau took a few steps back, looking bewildered. He turned to Hitomi. "I need to talk to Celena," he commanded. Hitomi reached for his arm—after all, it had worked with Celena. Dilandau held up a hand.

"Wait!" Hitomi paused. "Hey!" he called down the hallway, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Come here!"

A white lioness appeared at the end of the hallway. She trotted over to gaze up at Dilandau with beautiful blue eyes.

Dilandau felt the air until he found the lioness's head and knelt down, speaking into her ear. "Celena, I promise I'll do what I can to get your body back. You probably know even more than I do, but I've figured it out—you lose it when you're in this body. We need to have a talk in the white room." The lioness nodded her approval gracefully. "Good." Dilandau stood and turned in a circle, addressing everyone around him. "I need something comfortable to lie down on," he said.

"There's a bench that way." Van pointed down the hallway, then realized the gesture was useless and lowered his arm.

Dilandau beckoned for Hitomi to lead him to the bench, sat her down, then stretched out with his head in her lap. "I may take awhile," he explained. "If you link us through our eyes, we can't see our strings, and she can't overpower me and take the body. You're the only one who can send me to the white room, so always do it through the eyes. Now." He closed his eyes. "Put your hands over my eyes," he instructed. Hitomi did as he requested, laying her palms upon Dilandau's face.

The light peeled away from his vision, and Dilandau looked around. Celena stood a few paces away from him, her arms folded sulkily. He could not see the golden chain that bound her to her body, nor the silken rope that bound him to his. "I figured out this much," Dilandau told Celena. "If Hitomi joins us by the eyes like all the other times, you can't force me out."

She glowered, but at least Celena had the sense to look ashamed. "You know I at least had to try."

"What do you know that you haven't told me?" Dilandau demanded, jabbing a finger at Celena. She tossed her head haughtily, looking away from Dilandau.

"Despite what you think, not much more than you. Maybe less than you, since I don't know what you find out while you have the body."

"A bargain, then." Dilandau paced a slow circle around Celena as he spoke. "You tell me what you know, answer my questions, and I will tell you what I have learned. Do we have an agreement?"

"I want you to let me use the body."

"I'll let you use my body _sometimes_, until you get your own back."

Celena pondered the offer with a small sigh, lowering her head and wrapping her arms around herself. She paused a moment, thinking, then straightened. Lifting her palm to her mouth, she bit it, drawing blood, then extended her hand to Dilandau. "Agreed."

Not understanding, Dilandau bit at his palm until he drew blood. "Agreed." He clasped Celena's hand.

Celena nodded. "We have a blood agreement. I will no longer withhold information from you."

"And I, you," Dilandau agreed. "First things first." He spread his arms to his sides to indicate himself, Celena, and the room. "What the hell is going on?"

Celena tapped her finger on the side of her head as she talked. "Since you're the one with the body, we must be in your mind."

"And what's going on with you and me?"

Celena signed, dropping her hand. "I don't know much about that. I know that you are my spare..." she trailed off.

"Spare what?" Dilandau demanded.

"Spare soul," Celena said gingerly, waiting for a reaction. Dilandau held back. "You must have been waiting somewhere in my mind." She shuddered. "When Zaibach kidnapped me and put me in that machine...I don't know what they were trying to do, because they ripped me out and left the body to you."

"Why in the world would someone need a spare soul?" Dilandau wondered.

"I don't know," Celena replied. "After I was torn out, I found the gold chain around my neck. I followed it to the lioness; that became my new body. But the two of us are still linked."

"Linked how?"

"I don't know."

"Linked why?"

"I don't know!" Celena snapped, her eyes flaring. "You're the one who's been running around with opposable thumbs for the last ten years! You tell me!"

Dilandau's eye twitched. He just wasn't used to people standing up to him. He wasn't used to having his body hijacked, either. "There's a book," he told her. "About an albino Draconian with lions, and a seer, and demons in the mountains. We're going to Freid to try to find out how much of it is true."

Celena folded her arms, nodding. "Lions, lions—yes, I see a link. Good work." And she slapped him approvingly on the shoulder. Dilandau's eyes narrowed. Was she condescending or serious?

"I'd keep an eye on that Hitomi woman." Celena studied her fingers, flexing them, and Dilandau could imagine claws sliding from their tips.

"Do you think she's dangerous?" Dilandau asked.

"I think she's important," Celena replied. "Dangerous, certainly; all knowledge is dangerous. I have a feeling that we'll want her with us."

"_That's_ obvious," Dilandau told her. "If she's the only link we have, do you think I'm going to alienate her?"

"I don't know you very well, I have to be sure!"

Dilandau paused. "I know you've been watching over me," he said seriously. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" Celena turned away. "You've got my body!" She sighed. "Besides, that dumb cat's not so bad. It can do things. I could see you, and I could even come to you."

"Why didn't you turn up earlier?" Dilandau asked. Celena turned back.

"A bloody white lioness showing up on your floating fortress? You'd have killed me! I never had a reason to risk it until now."

"Will you stay now?"

Celena bit her lip. "I—well, I suppose, but...don't let Allen talk about me," she said finally. Dilandau groaned.

"Don't tell me _you're_ besotted with him, too!"

"I am not!" Celena curled her hands into fists. "There's something you'll need to know about him, but you're not ready to hear it yet. And I'd rather be the one to tell you. He'll get it wrong."

Well, if that wasn't a good way to get his curiosity piqued, Dilandau didn't know what was. "Tell me," he pressed. Celena remained silent. "Come on! Won't he expect me to know it now that we've met?"

"He's my brother," Celena replied. Dilandau's eyes widened.

"Your brother?"

"He's all that's left of the Schezar family." Celena looked away. "But he can tell you all about it."

"Thank you," Dilandau said softly. Celena smiled.

"We'll talk again soon." Celena lifted her hand, and after a moment, Dilandau fitted his palm to hers, lacing their fingers together. Celena raised her other hand, and Dilandau joined it with his. "Brother."

Dilandau let himself fall backwards and drop back into his body. He reached up and moved Hitomi's hands away from his eyes, noting a twinge of pain in the palm he had bitten.

"Well?" Hitomi asked worriedly.

"We've worked things out for now."

As Dilandau sat up, the lioness jumped up and padded quietly over to Allen. The white-faced Knight Caeli had the look of a man presented with too many problems at once, and he backed away as the lioness approached. She licked his hand with her rough tongue and gazed up at him with sad, blue eyes.

"Serene," Dilandau called. The lioness turned, paused, and trotted back to him. He dropped to his knees on the floor and wrapped his arms around her neck. "We'll call you that for now," he told her softly. "So they won't know." The lioness licked his nose to show her approval, and he laughed and buried his face in her soft fur.

And, for some reason, he didn't want to let go.

oOoOo

Folken studied the small group gathered before him. Naria and Eriya: leaning easily against the wall. They did not know yet, but Folken could already guess their response. Viole: dressed in his armour again, but white-faced, and shivering so hard that he rattled. His dark-circled eyes glanced left and right, and once already he had jumped at a noise that no one else had heard. Gatti, Chesta, Guimel: anxious and curious. Gatti looked determined, at least, if unsure. Chesta and Guimel had each taken one of Viole's hands, chafing them in an attempt to keep them warm. Folken had found the first black tinges of frostbite beginning on Viole's toes that morning. Treatable under normal circumstances, but nobody could find the cause for Viole's malady.

Shays: seeming to have caught whatever afflicted Viole. He shivered and pulled his cloak tight around his body, then released it to cough into a handkerchief. Anna: waiting silently. She couldn't do anything but wait.

And that was all. Everyone else Folken trusted had gone, either elsewhere in the world or beyond it. Not that any thousands of Zaibach's soldiers would help against this foe. Folken did not know if anything would help. So, like the scientist he was, he would test what might have an effect, starting with the most likely option—the mad emperor's plan that even he had formerly condemned.

"I want to make it clear," Folken began, "that I am no longer acting under the jurisdiction of the Zaibach Empire. You are under no obligation to follow me. However—" he extended his mechanical arm to them, palm up "—if you remain here, you may end up betraying me to the Empire—" he made a snatching motion and lowered his arm "—but we'll be moving so fast, you'll never catch us."

Folken stood before them barefoot, wearing only the flowing Draconian clothes that left his back bare. He lifted his sword and belted it around his waist. The scientist in him wanted to keep his Zaibach uniform, his boots. But, the dancer inside of him wanted to return to the traditional clothing of his homeland. It would be a symbol for everyone who saw him. 'Magical things are coming. We must prepare ourselves.' Folken lifted his cloak, but folded it neatly and draped it over his arm.

"Any of you who are not with me, leave now." No one moved. The room was still and silent. In the cold light, thirteen pairs of eyes blinked once, simultaneously, in affirmation.

Gatti straightened. He spoke for the remaining members of the Dragon Slayers. "We serve Lord Dilandau, not Zaibach. You are acting in Lord Dilandau's best interest, and you will re-unite us with him. We follow you."

"You're everything we have," Eriya said. "You know that."

"Where Lord Folken goes, we will go too," Naria affirmed.

"I'll do whatever I can to help you," Anna told him. Shays, still coughing, could only nod his agreement.

Folken smiled inwardly. It felt good to be moving again, instead of having his hands tied by Zaibach's politics. "We're leaving the Vione," he began. "Whatever it is that's attacking us, we may be able to lose it."

"Where are we going, Lord Folken?" asked Eriya.

"Freid. There we will take the Power Spot, by force if we have to."

"The Power Spot?" Shays's eyes, gone glassy with illness, brightened. "The lost records of Atlantis?"

"And more," Folken affirmed. "With access to the Power Spot, we can complete the Emperor's Atlantis Machine."

"That thing we had to capture the Dragon for?" Gatti's face looked skeptical. "What can we do with that?"

"Change the world," Folken answered.

A knock sounded at the door. "Ignore that," Folken told them. "I've overridden the locks, but as soon as someone learns what we're up to, it's only a matter of time until my passwords are deleted. Naria, Eriya." The two cat-women straightened.

"Yes, Lord Folken?"

"I want you to take Mother and Shays with you when you go to your Guymelefs. They can't fly fast enough to keep up; carry them in your Crima Claws."

"Yes sir!"

"Gatti, you take Viole. He isn't fit to fly on his own."

"Yes sir."

"Everyone get to the hangar as quietly as you can and fly away as fast as you can. Remember, we're renegades now."

"Yes sir!" they chimed.

The knock sounded at the door again. Folken motioned everyone aside and strode to the door. He reached toward the door's controls, then stopped. A thin layer of frost coated the door.

"They're outside!" Viole hissed, shivering. "I can hear them!"

"We have to get out of here." In his fist, Folken clenched the remaining ornament that had dangled from the right collar-tip of his cloak. He tossed the cloak over his shoulder. he had lost the left one—the one tuned for defensive fates—in escaping from the Mystic Valley. That was all right. He needed the right one: offense. "Get ready to run when I open the door," he said.

The knock came again. No; close to the door, he could tell it was not a knock. It was a tap, like hail against the metal door.

"Lord Folken!" Naria protested, "we can't just leave you!"

"Let us fight with you!" Eriya joined in.

"No!" Folken told them forcefully. "I'm not going to die. I'm leaving with you. Now, get ready to run!"

Red light flickered between Folken's fingers. He slapped the controls on the wall, and the door flew open. "Go!" Folken shouted. He hurled the red ornament into the hallway, into the midst of a mob of clattering ice-wraiths. The ornament exploded in a blood-red fireball. Folken plunged into the fray, sword swinging, hacking off icy limbs that shattered against the walls. Melted water splashed around his bare feet. Behind him, Folken heard growls as Naria and Eriya joined in the fight, and shouts as the remaining Dragon Slayers followed.

Folken whirled, crouching low, taking a melting imp off at the knees. One latched onto his shoulders; Folken threw himself backwards, slamming into the wall. Weakened by the explosion, the imp broke into pieces.

As soon as he was free, Folken took off running in the opposite direction from his companions. He still had one more task to complete. Doors flew open at a thought. He leapt down stairs, sword still bared, making his way faster than any human to the bridge of the Vione.

When Folken burst into the sunny room, lit by floor-to-ceiling windows, none of the gray-armoured soldiers even looked up from their work. Folken transformed the momentum from his run into a flying kick that impacted the exposed waist of the nearest soldier. The man went sprawling; Folken landed and plunged his sword into the soldier's bank of controls, all the way up to the hilt. Sparks flashed, smoke rose; the smell of burning metal filled the air.

"Lord Folken?" Surprised shouts echoed across the bridge. Nobody came at him; they were too shocked to move. Folken pulled his sword free and brought it smashing down on another console, metal grating and tearing. Wires spilled like entrails from a cybernetic wound.

Now alarms blared and warnings flashed on the remaining control banks. The Vione lurched. Flames flared hot, but Folken felt cold as he knocked another soldier aside and cut into another console. How many years had he commanded the Vione? Worked here? Returned here, home, after a trip to the ground? But he had to destroy everything. All his work, anything that Zaibach could use to stop him from getting the Atlantis Machine—it all had to go.

He glanced out the window. He could see the ocean slowly growing closer. Folken's wings burst from his back; he leapt into the air, out of the reach of the Vione soldiers, and shot toward the window. He crossed his arms, mechanical arm on the outside, to protect his face, ducked his head, and smashed through the glass.

A short distance away, Folken could see a group of Guymelefs waiting near the ocean's surface. The silver and gold hair of Naria and Eriya's Teirings fluttered in the air—fiber-optic strands that would catch the sunlight to help give the Teiring power for its six-miet burst of extra speed. He had designed them on the Vione.

Folken quickly closed the empty space between them and found a place on the shoulder of Chesta's Alseides. "Let's go!" he called.

The Guymelefs streaked away as the Vione plunged into the sea.

oOoOo

Despite Hitomi's protestations, Allen refused to stop pacing up and down the hallway. "Dilandau is my sister," he muttered to himself. "Dilandau is my sister. How? Dilandau is my sister!"

"Somebody get this man drunk." Dilandau laced his fingers behind his head and tossed one leg over the arm of his chair lazily. Celena—Serene—lay on the floor at his feet, watching Allen walk in circles. Van had dispatched a servant to bring Allen a glass of wine to calm him down, but—according to Hitomi's whispered information—he had not drunk any of it. He just held the glass as he paced. Dilandau suspected it would take something a good deal stronger than wine to calm Allen down.

Allen's footsteps stopped. "How is this possible?" he asked Dilandau. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I told you," Dilandau sighed, "I didn't know!"

"How can you not know?"

"_You_ didn't know!"

Van murmured another drink order to a servant. "Are you sure you want that, my lord?" the servant asked.

"Yeah, he needs it."

"As you wish."

For Dilandau's part, he was honestly unsure how to feel about the knowledge that he had a brother. He had rather fancied himself a lone wolf—or lone lion—at times. He was an enigma, his past unknown even to himself. Allen could tell him about his parents, his childhood, those blank early years...but they were not really his years, were they? They were Celena's, and while Celena was closer to being his sister than Allen was his brother, the fact remained that _he was not Celena._ Allen would know all about _Celena's_ past, but Dilandau would remain shrouded in mystery.

"Your drink, sir." Dilandau heard the slide of gloves against glass as the servant exchanged Allen's drinks.

"What is this stuff?" Allen sniffed the glass warily. "It's green!"

"It's supposed to be that colour, if that's what you mean," Van told him.

"I don't think I want to drink this."

"It's a well-known cure for nerves in Fanelia. Just ask any old wife."

Allen didn't offer a reply. Dilandau wondered if he had made the mistake of tossing back his potent drink in one gulp, but he spoke a moment later.

"Do you see that smoke?"

"It looks like it's coming from the bay," Van confirmed.

Dilandau straightened, returning both feet to the floor. The Vione had been hovering over the bay, last he knew.

The combination of running footsteps and rattling armour signalled the arrival of a soldier. "Sir!" Heels clicked together in a salute. "I've been sent to inform you that the Vione Fortress has crashed into the bay!"

Dilandau leapt to his feet. The Vione? Folken and the Dragon Slayers had been on the Vione! "Are there any survivors?" he demanded.

"Unknown but unlikely, my lord. However, several Guymelefs were seen leaving the bay just before the crash."

Dilandau sank back into his chair. Several Guymelefs? Well, that could be Folken and the Dragon Slayers...but what could have possibly caused the Vione to crash? Unless... "Was there any sort of message?" he asked. "Any message left behind somewhere?"

"Not that anyone has discovered, my lord."

Dilandau felt Hitomi's eyes on him. "Why do you think there might be a message?" she asked. "Do you know something?"

"Someone—_thing_," he corrected, "has been targeting my men. They all leave the same message as they're dying."

"Which is?" Allen asked.

"What he loves."

"Curious," Hitomi mused. "Do you know what it means?"

"Haven't the slightest idea."

"It seems obvious to me," Van said. "Who loved them?"

"Don't be stupid," Dilandau shot. "They were soldiers. They didn't have anyone."

"They must have had _someone_," Hitomi offered.

"No, they didn't. We hardly left the Vione except on missions, and their families are all dead. They didn't have anyone but me."

"Then there you have it!"

Dilandau's eye twitched in irritation. "You're saying _I_ loved them? Meh!"

"You just _said_ they didn't have anyone else," Hitomi told him. "Don't look so defensive! There's a lot of different ways you can love someone! I love my best friend Yukari differently than I love my little brother, or than I love—" Hitomi paused, "—d my last boyfriend," she finished lamely.

"Even if I was willing to concede that," Dilandau argued, "you'd be saying that someone is targeting people based on whether I care about them or not."

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Hitomi said.

"That would mean that unless I stop this thing...I'm going to lose everyone who's important to me."

No one said a word.


	28. La Ra is moving!

Unfortunately, this is a note, not a chapter, but it's the only way I can think of to get the attention of anyone who's still reading La Ra Everlasting Frost here.

I will no longer be posting any fanfictions to this website. In fact, I am going to be deleting them so that all my stories will be in one place again. If you have been following La Ra, from now on please keep an eye on Mengxia at deviantART.

mengxia dot deviantart dot com

Thank you! 


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